Dance Academy: Last Chapter
by Tara Reed
Summary: What happened in season 3 episode 13 between Tara's fall and the official opening of the Samuel Lieberman Memorial Studio? This is my take on it, from Christian's point of view. My DA blogs: taralouisereed dot tumblr dot com or danceacademyobsession on wordpress ;-) See you there!
1. Chapter 1 - Tara Falls

Tara Falls

And I kept holding her, my hands over her ears, I am not sure why. Maybe to protect her spine, like I was told at the first aid course. But what was the point? Her spine was the issue. Just not the neck that I pointlessly held in place. So maybe it was to help her hold on to sanity. Or to make me hold on to mine.

'My legs, I can't feel them!' she sobs, and I can't even wipe her tears away, my hands are glued to the sides of her face. A face I want to kiss and soothe. I want to tell her that all will be well. But how could I? What do I know about her back? Falling flat on it like that shouldn't be so bad. But if that were the case, she would be up by now. And she is not. She's pinned to the floor, and not because I'm holding her down. Because she simply can't move.

I snapped my eyes closed and fight the dizziness lurching in my head. I won't fall and I won't run. I'm gonna stay here till I'm not needed anymore. Dr Wicks tells everyone to back off, for Abigail to call an ambulance, but she doesn't tell me to move. Maybe I'm doing something right after all. The rest becomes a blur as I whisper her name. 'Tara.'

But she only looks at me for a second as tears keep on swelling in her eyes, pooling as if she were drowning in them. I lean forward and kiss her forehead. She closes her eyes, the tears streaming down the trail carved by their predecessor. And we wait.

The ambulance has just left, and I'm still stuck to my spot. Still on my knees, my hands still Tara's head width apart. Ollie taps my shoulder, and yet I do not move.

'Come on, mate, let's go.' Ben's hand is in front of my face. I grab as he pulls me back to standing. But I can't look at him. I just nod my thanks and run out to the changing room. This is desperate time but I'm not going out there in these stupid white tights. Prince charming? Yeah right, useless plonker more like.

When I get out, everybody else is changed and on the move, apart from Miss Raine who is pinned against the wall by a crowd of people, some of them with cameras and microphones. How do these vultures get in so quickly?

Kat hooks my elbow and pulls me forward. The silver sparkle of her dress clashes ridiculously with the sallow shade of her face. She of the eternal smile and twinkle in the eye, she has been drained of everything good. I let her drag me out the back door, into a cab, where we all pile up. The driver doesn't even say a thing. Our destination and collective desperate facial expression tell him all he needs to know.


	2. Chapter 2 - Waiting

Waiting

Of course now that we're here there is nothing we can do but take up a seat in the waiting area. Kat is still holding my hand tight in hers. I don't let go. I need to hold down onto something too, so that I don't fly. So that I don't run away, take off and leave it all behind.

We've never been so quiet. In that other night long watch there had never been silence. Even when our voices had stilled, the music had carried on, till the morning sun had released us and we had ran to the water and splashed like the noisy crazy kids we were.

But here, the only noises are the ones that would be there if we weren't: the doors opening and closing, the hospital staff shuffling about in their spongy shoes, the phones ringing, the hushed voices. It all becomes a weirdly relaxing background soundtrack, like white noise.

I drifted asleep. I only realised now because I'm opening my eyes and it's lighter. The earth hasn't stopped its revolution. It has let the sun warm its down under face, bringing out a new day. Anger bubbles in my empty stomach. Ah, of course I'm ravenous. Trust my body to betray me, to want its needs met, to think only of itself.

'Christian, are you okay?' Kat asks, her fingers wriggling beneath mine. I must have squeezed them too hard. I nod.

'Go back to sleep, there's still no news.'

'I shouldn't have slept at all.'

Kat gives me a knowing look. 'We all did at one point or another.'

I glance over the group. Ollie is wide awake, his eyes fixed ahead of himself, but both Ben and Grace are asleep, their heads propping each other. As if on cue, he snorts a bit, then wake up. He catches my eyes and straightens up, letting Grace's head drop gently to the sofa's armrest. My guilt reflects in his eyes, in the tightness of his lips. But us sleeping or not makes no difference. No matter how much we might wish it could.

Ollie comes back with coffee for everyone. I never drink the stuff, but today is as good as any to start. Before I even have my lips on the rim, Miss Raine walks in, heels clicking loudly, echoing against the walls. She makes no apologies for being here and making her entrance. She has her business face on, that 'don't mess with me' look that melted us to a whimper as first years. 'You need to get ready for your interviews. They will not be postponed. Up you get, now. You can come back afterwards. Go.'

I want to snap back at her, tell her this is none of her business. I can feel my lip curl, ready for a smirk, or a snarl. Who is she to tell me what to do? Who in their right minds can think of bloody Company interviews? It's not as if Tara will go to hers now, is it?

But Tara would want us to go. She would want ME to go. I swallow my retort back. It catches in my throat before nestling unhappily in my stomach. Interview? What the heck am I going to say?


	3. Chapter 3 - Who Cares?

Who Cares?

The house is in a storm of rushed and stressed-out-of-their-wits eighteen year olds. Not a pretty sight. I join the throng, slip into the shower the minute Ben is out, the water still dripping before I turn it right up again. In my numb tiredness it's hard not to linger and let the water calm me down, so I drag the lever down to cool the water to the lowest I can bare and spread the soap over my body in sharp short strokes. I don't bother to wash my hair, I'll get more gel in to tame it. When I get out, the other year three students there are all checking their looks in the mirrors one more time.

I come back to my half empty room to face the jacket and tie I had prepared two nights ago. Two nights and look what happened! I shove the lot to the floor as I swing the cupboard door open, get the first pair of jeans my hand falls on, the first shirt, slip my sneakers on. I don't even bother with underwear. I hook my rucksack on my left shoulder and off I go. That's as ready as I'll ever be. This is me. If they want me, they can have me as is.

Everyone is hovering in the corridor, even those who have their interviews at the end of the afternoon, Abigail and Ollie, stuck together, thick as thieves, the ones with the biggest drive, and yet pretend so hard that they don't care.

'Why are you here?' I ask Abigail. She didn't even dance last night. Had given up, her of all people.

'I had my audition this morning.'

Well, that got me in the stomach alright. 'You did?'

She just nodded and stared at the interview timetable again.

Grace came out and burrowed straight into Ben's arms. But she was a guaranteed, wasn't she?

Hushed comments bubble out from everywhere. Ollie and Abi glance at each other. Maybe the rumours are true. None of us are getting in. I'm so pissed off I could walk out right now. And yet I stay, leaning against the wall, to watch the hecatomb as one by one we fall. Then my turn comes at last.

I walk my most nonchalant best, slouch low on the chair, as casual as can be. But before I can stop myself, I'm sitting straight again. My mouth is so dry and yet I do not take the glass of water they offer. It's a bit disgusting how they hold the interviews in this room where we have sweated our guts for the last three years, where we have received our best praise, our worst criticisms.

'Mr Reed, we have been charmed by your performance, strong and spirited for a normally so romantic piece.'

I shrug. I'm in the biggest interview of my life and I shrug.

'What did you make of your performance?'

Ah, Tara had prepped me up for this one. It comes out as an automaton. 'I wanted it to show a darker stronger side to the character, his determination, his boldness.'

'And that you did. But there was lightness there too.'

'Yes, I like contrasts.'

'I see. And talking about contrast, which do you favor, Classical Ballet or Contemporary?'

My mind went blank for a second, then all I wanted to do was snort and say ''hip hop actually''. I am so glad Tara has drilled the interviews with all of us. Kat had tried to help to, but she could never keep a straight face. Tara said it would help her, to get us through our paces. Won't be much use to her where she is now. I find it so hard to swallow, but I take a deep breath to muster a smidgen of control. Tara had helped me think through this one too. I would do right by her.

'This is a tough call, because I enjoy both. I love the freedom of expression that comes with Contemporary dance and music, the broadness, the possibilities.'

They all nodded, but with faces still as blank of expression as corpses.

'With Ballet, it's about mastering the technique. I like the rigour and the precision, the challenge of the constraints, of sticking with something that has been danced for hundreds of years, the minutiae.'

'How interesting. You're a man of extremes then?'

I stared at Rebecca for a second. What the heck did she mean by that? 'Erm, I guess so.'

'And where do you see yourself in, say, a year, in your ideal?'

Tara's face flashed in my mind. Well, that wouldn't do. They don't give a toss about my love life, or lack thereof. It's dance they want. 'In my ideal, I'm with the company. I've had some great run in the corps, had a few solo...' Even to my own ears that sounds dreary.

'And in ten years.'

'In ten years...' Who will I be in ten years? At twenty eight? Who will I be? They wait, and I fail to answer. I should have accepted that water, it would come in handy now. Instead, I close my eyes. The images come instantly. Zach. Jayden. 'In ten years, I will teach.'

Rebecca's stern face somehow became that little bit more apathetic, her lips pouting down, her arms crossing over her absent chest. And I realise I don't care. I slouch back again.

'Well, we'll have to see if we can help you push that to a few more years later, then.' She looks to her colleagues on either side of her, who nod at her.

'Mr Reed, congratulations, we would love to offer you a place at the National Ballet Company.' She pushes a dull yellow binder towards me.

For a few seconds, I don't say a thing. I don't even move. Then I take it, nod once and mutter a short ''Thank you', and I leave the room.

I'm already out and down the corridor when Ollie calls behind me. 'Hey Reedo, care to share with the group?'

I stop. I don't even turn when I shake my head before I set off again.


	4. Chapter 4 - Memorial

Memorial

I may have been erring like a lost soul but it only takes to pass by the Memorial Studio for me to know exactly where I was going, and what I'm going to do.

Zach is there, alone, surrounded by plastic wrappings, tape, screws and the bottom half of a barre. The whole place is a mess, with sectioned off areas, tarpaulins and scaffoldings. And yet it's so inviting, it's where I want to be. The certitude takes hold of me and dissipates the frustration and the anger that had been churning in my stomach. And I feel light. This feels right.

'You're not gonna get the kids you want with ballet barres.'

Zach looks up and his face becomes alight with excitement, like I'm family, the prodigal son.

'So?' He is shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hand still on the frame, but his arms sticking out. 'Come on, I wasn't even that worked up on my own interview day.'

I put my bag down to prepare myself. 'They changed it to the afternoon.' The lie comes out so smooth he doesn't even think it could be untrue. I'm that good at deception.

'Grab the other end,' he says.

I take hold of it and lift. 'Does that make it official, you running the centre?'

The barre slides in its frame with a satisfying and easy click.

'I told my wife to blame you.' Zach screws the knob in to secure it. 'How I'm going to fit it in with everything else, I do not know.'

But I do. He won't have to do it all, not by himself anyway. 'It's worth it. At least it's gonna be, if you - if you start the kids with hip hop and drip feed them ballet later.'

Zach snorts. 'You know I wouldn't recognise a pop from a lock, let alone those armchairs things that you do.'

If only I knew what those armchairs-things-that-I-do are supposed to be, but then he strikes a pause and I have to summon all the respect I hold for the man not to burst out laughing.

So we bust some moves. He learns fast. Of course he does, years of classical training does that to you. You only have to look once to memorise and for your body to translate what it sees into movements.

His attempt on the floor is decent, but it's amazing how even in a free moving art form as hip hop, there are still rules, dictated by physics, not snobs, but rules all the same. 'That was good, but keep your feet underneath your bum at all times.'

I get a kick out of demonstrating his moves the way they should be done, or at least how I like them done. I have become the teacher. The role reversal is so smooth, so comfortable. This man is strength and humility all wrapped into one.

I end my move with a back flip. Zach is duly impressed, but jokes about his back and we get back to work. I lose myself in the simplicity of picking up the mess, tidying cables, sweeping the floors.

'Christian, you've got to go.'

'It's cool.'

'Trust me, this is not an appointment you can be late for.'

Trust. He has earned it, time and again. I will trust him, from now on. So I turn round, fetch the folder from my bag and hand it to him. His reaction is priceless.

'You're kidding, right?'

I shake my head. No I am not kidding, and I won't be kidding either when I'll tell him I don't want it. It's his, he got me there. But it's not my path.

Zach moves faster than I expected. I'm stuck in a bear hug before I can say a word. 'I told you, didn't I?'

'I want you to keep it.'

'Well, I can't, it's a contract, you've got to sign it.'

I shake my head again. After the shrugs, this is becoming my signature move for the day.

'Ah no. No no no no, you're not walking away, alright, not this time.' Zach is coming towards me again. But I stand still.

'I wanna-', I am so sure of myself, and yet the words catch in my throat. 'I wanna work here. I want to teach.'

'So do ten years in the company then be a teacher.' Of course what he says makes sense, everyone would say that, everyone. But I'm not everyone, I never was.

Here's the head shake again. 'I finally know what I want to do, I want to start doing it.'

And that must be compelling enough. Yes, he sighs and looks at me as if I'm mad, but then he just takes one more deep breath, tucks the contract at the back of his shorts, hands me my broom again and leaves with an armful of crates.

 **A/N. Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far. I hope it feels real.**

 **Please feel free to post comments in the review box, even if just a passing thought, even if it's a criticism. It's incredibly useful for writers to receive feedback, that's how we grow.**


	5. Chapter 5 - Lies

_Previously on Dance Academy: Tara fell during her final year solo and was rushed to the hospital, leaving Christian and all her friends in a distressed state. After a night long watch waiting, Miss Raine forces the gang to leave to attend The Company's auditions. Christian shocks his teacher, Zach, by announcing he has no intention in accepting the place offered to him, that all he wants to do is teach._

Lies

I tidy and busy myself till it got dark out. Surely all the interviews are done by now. Everyone knows their fate. And I know mine.

A sharp pull tugs at my stomach. Maybe I should have told them so at the interview. What if Ben could get the place now that I was going to say no to mine? My throat and chest tighten. So much for growing up. Once again I had thought of myself. Me, me and only me.

The wide studio with all its building stuff suddenly becomes claustrophobic, alien, as if it has recognised me for the fake that I am. Me? A teacher?

I freak out a bit, turning into the space desperately looking for something to focus on to still my mind. Where the heck is Zach? He's been gone for ages. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't very well leave the place open, it would be hollowed out by morning.

I go to get my phone, but that's a daft move. I didn't have Zach's number. We may have been pally pally all day, but it had been a thin and ephemeral as appearances.

I tighten my fists, close my eyes and take some forced breaths. Then I throw a glance at my surroundings again. The floor is clear, the tools are all put away, there is no longer any wires hanging in weird places. There's nothing left for me to do.

So I rummage through my bag. Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. I'd rushed out with nothing but some crumpled bits of paper, a chewing gum wrapper, a few battered pens and a mess of crumbs lining the bottom of my rucksack. I fish out the sheets of notepad paper, smooth one and perch on the tool box. Plan. I will plan.

Nearly two sheets are filled by the time Zach comes back. By that point I'm not even sure whether I am more angry or relieved. But I have a choice, and that's not always the case, far from it. Controlling my emotions has never been my forte. I usually act then think and it doesn't serve me well. For this once I have a conscious choice, I might as well make the right one.

'I'm glad you're back. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, I couldn't leave this place all opened up.'

'Sorry, Christian, I got cornered. But next time you can just go whenever you want, the release is there,' he points at a button at waist level, 'and the door is self locking. Just don't leave anything behind you might need again later.'

'Okay.'

'What's that?' he asks, pointing at my scrawled up papers.

'Plans.'

'For?'

I check his curious expression and seethe at my own stupid assumptions. Who am I to make plans? This is not my place! I clear my throat. 'Erm, for here, recommendations, really.'

His eyes turn piercing, as if they are rummaging in my brain. Then they soften into casual glancing. He hadn't been quick enough, the pretence is all ruined by his unguarded first reaction. 'Cool, show me.'

He comes to squat beside me, but good luck to him if he thinks he might decipher my handwriting. I go down the most important and urgent points. 'The barre needs to go into storage. You can't have it just sitting there. The kids will sit on it, dangle from it, use it as a launch pad, and it hasn't been designed for stuff like that. I don't know how insurance works, but I bet they don't cover for that kind of ''accidental'' use.'

Zach laughs. 'Okay, what next?'

'I don't see any music system as yet, and that's good. You'll need to have something covered, you know, so that the kids have only access to a slit thing for CD and a dock for MP3s and phones, with stuck on wires if needs be, nothing removable, unless you want it to walk out with the first users.'

'Wow, I would have never thought of that. You don't have much trust in your future pupils, do you?'

'I know where I come-' and then his words hit me. 'My pupils?'

'What? You expect to teach somewhere else than here? With no qualifications, no one will have you.' Suddenly the happy banter falls flat and his face grows red around the edges. 'I mean, I don't know what your plans are, I just thought... Well, I'm not even sure if it would be possible, I hope it might be but...' Zach looks at me uneasily, then he rattles his throat. I focus all my attention on him, my eyes probably as thin as slits by now. 'I mean, they're going to need teachers, or at least coaches here. But that might not be what you want.' He grumbles some more, getting up and fetching his jacket. 'I need to close this place before my wife gets into a flap already. Maybe if you give me your list I can have a look at it tonight.'

I stare at the papers in my hand. 'Or maybe I'll bring it back tomorrow and run through it with you, I doubt you could read it anyway.'

Zach nods. 'Fair. Tomorrow, eight o'clock before my first class?'

I doubt very much Tara's doctors would let me stay all day with her, and what else would I have to do but pack my things tomorrow? 'Yep, can do.'

Zach seems far away, lost in thought. I'm not sure he heard me. Eventually, he looks up again. 'Fine, then we can run through your recommendations.' His tone is so tight, just like mine had been the first time I had tried to lie to my mum. I had wanted to go to the skate park but it had been already dark. So I told her I had to do homework with one of my mates. She'd seen right through me. I'd got better with time. Clearly Zach had had no practice. He is lying, that's for sure, but what about? I take my time to get my bag, carefully folding the paper back in, and observe him as he types into his phone. My stomach hardens again. He doesn't want me here then, not really. All the rest, it's been lip service. I have no training, I would not teach. He's right. Who in their right mind would hire me?

'See ya,' I say as I head for the door.

'Hey, Christian, can we swap numbers please, just in case?'

I stare for longer than is polite, then I mumble my number to him. My phone beeps. He's sent me a text straight away.

'Now you've got mine.' He hitches his satchel over his shoulder and leads the way out, letting the door slide shut behind us. 'Tomorrow, eight o'clock. I'm looking forward to it.' Then he walks away towards the car park.

And I just stand there like a dumbfounded fool.

 **A/N. Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far. We are now departing from what where episode 13 left us in limbo, I hope it works!**

 **Please feel free to post comments in the review box, even if just a passing thought, even if it's a criticism. It's incredibly useful for writers to receive feedback, that's how we grow.**


	6. Chapter 6 - What Now?

_Previously, on Dance Academy: Despite waiting in the hospital waiting room all night, Christian has no news on Tara, and he cannot bring himself to face the other guys, especially as none of them would take too kindly to the fact that he has no intention of accepting the Company place he was offered. At least he might have an opening at the Memorial..._

 **What Now?**

I snap out of my daze and I run. I could get my bike, but it might be even faster to just head for the hospital. My heart beats fast, my breaths reach deep in my chest, rushing out in gusts that match the tempo of my strides. I might get there in a mess of sweat, but I'm feeling cleaner inside.

The front of the hospital is deserted but for a few people walking away. I push through the revolving doors, run through the lobby only to find the next set of doors unmovable.

Dread rises in me as if I were on a sinking ship. I turn to make sense of my surroundings, ready to lunge for an escape route, but all I see is a large man behind the welcome counter.

'Visiting hours are between ten and twelve, then two to eight,' he says like he pressed a button to play a well used sound file.

I check my watch. Ten past eight. Ten minutes past eight!

'But- but my friend got in as an emergency last night and-'

'If he was in emergency last night, he is not anymore. So either he's now an inpatient and you will have to come back tomorrow, or he is at home, or-' He gives me a weird look. 'It's one of the other.'

Or she's dead.

No, I can't think that way, I won't think that way. Someone would have called me.

In my hurry I jab my finger nail in the stupid excess metal of my jeans. I swear, ignore the pain and go back in to fetch my phone. Messages, plenty of them, enough to get my heart rate race up as if I'm still sprinting. And then I exhale in relief. Yes, lots of messages, but messages to check how I am. What do I care about how I am! How is she?

I hesitate between Kat and her dad. Both will hate me for not having been there. God knows I'm hating myself enough.

Ten a.m.. I will be there, on the dot, early actually.

I go back through the doors and leave the acidic smell of the hospital behind me. For the second time today, I stand out and I don't know what to do. I want to grab a board and surf, my usual and unfailing access to oblivion, but it's too dark for surfing. I might be a dumb ass, but not that dumb. Skating is equally out of the equation, for that same reason. I wish I had gone to get my bike.

On the way back to the house I stop into one of these weird late opening shops and grab an energy drink, then I creep around our house block to where I keep my bike. The last thing I want to do is bump into anyone.

Just as I pull out into the street I catch a rush of blond hair at the corner of my visor, but I don't wait to check, I rev up the engine and take off.

I ride straight out of Sydney, following the coast whenever I can. I'm not sure whether I'm trying to ride away from the sun or to get it to rise sooner.

It doesn't take very long for the energy drink to wear off. I'm exhausted, running on empty, devoid of purpose, too tired to think or to even wish. I stop, park the bike on a grassy bit by the wild coast and just crash down beside it.

I wake with the late winter sun, groggy, sore, cold and parched. The discomfort is reassuring. Maybe it's atonement I was pursuing. No that it makes a blind bit of difference. I might be uncomfortable, but she must be in pain, in excruciating pain, pain of the worst kind, the one that no analgesic can do anything about.

The thought sobers me instantly. I get back on the bike, reach the nearest station, fill up with petrol, grab some resemblance of breakfast, and ride back in, a bit faster than is wise or legal. I stop right outside the Memorial. No one is there yet. I could use a shower and change of clothes, but I still can't face the others. I just can't. So I just sit there, leaning against my bike.

Zach comes around the corner with a spring in his step till he sees me, then the rhythm of his walk falters before he puts some steadiness back into it.

All my doubts, all the fears from the previous day, come flooding back in. I try to reason with myself.

1.) He wouldn't have been walking jauntily like this if something really bad had happened to Tara, that was a given, and that released some of the tightening in my chest out in a rushed exhalation.

2.) Seeing me there caught him off guard, but yesterday he made it clear that he would consider involving me in the Studio, that he wished it was possible. Surely he wouldn't know differently over night, would he? My rushed breakfast churns uneasily again in my sore stomach.

'Hey you, look at you, you're on time.'

'Yeah.'

Zach looks me up and down. 'What's happened, Christian? You look like you didn't get any sleep.'

'Not a lot of it, no.'

'Are you okay, is everything okay?'

I take the time to think about this for a moment. I'm throwing back in his face everything that he and Miss Raine, and Mr Kenedy before her, have done for me. I have no qualification or training to do what I want to do. The girl I love is in hospital, her dreams potentially shattered, and I haven't even seen her since she fell. No, nothing was okay.

'In the grand scheme of things it could be worst, but not by much.'

Concern etched on his face.

'Look, I'm okay, but these last few days, man, rollercoaster doesn't even cut it, it would be a piece of cake.'

'But everything is gonna work out, I'm sure of it.'

I stare in the eyes of this man who tries so hard to reassure me, but he has as much power to promise me that as I had when Tara fell. I had had the sense not to say such a trite thing.

Zach respects my silence, he does not even challenge the ire burning in my eyes. He squats down and unlocks the door, which slides open with a mighty whoosh. The sawdust and plastic smells hit me with that same sense of homecoming I had the previous day. That's how we need to keep it, not with those smells as such, but with an atmosphere that will draw the kids in to be who they are, guards down, free to be themselves, at home.

Zach pulls out a chair and two cardboard boxes into a weird triangle and taps one of the boxes for me to sit on as he takes the other. I indicate the chair with a rise of my eyebrows, but he completely ignores it.

'So, these ''recommendations'', shall we have a look?'

There's an unease in his voice that his smile cannot cover up. Why is he so edgy?

My legs twitch, ready to get me out of here at a moment's notice. I force myself to remain calm. I get my papers out, looking even more crumpled now after a night in a rucksack that has been used as a makeshift pillow.

I can't help but notice that he keeps on looking at the door. He is waiting for someone.

I'm just about to ask when Miss Raine's voice calls out to me. 'Good morning, Christian.'

Looking at her, in her cross-over top and knee length skirt, at the disdain on her face as she appraises my appearance, it's like nothing has changed at all.

 **Author's note. Thank you to everyone reading this story of mine. I hope you are enjoying it.**

 **Please do feel free to add a comment, that may be just a passing thought, an encouragement or even a criticism. Feedback is what helps writers's learn.**


	7. Chapter 7 - Open Face

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian missed out on seeing Tara and hasn't been able to face anyone to find out news. He spent a rogue night of riding and rough sleeping, but is back to meet with Zach to shares his ideas for the memorial when Miss Raine joins them._

Open Face

'Miss Raine,' I mumble without making eye contact. What the heck is she doing here?

She comes over and sits primly on the chair. 'So I've been informed that you're planning not to accept the Company's offer.'

Zach rattles his throat. I can't bring myself to look at him. I can't even say a word, my jaw is clenched too tight.

These two adults who think they can control my life, tell me what to do, make my choices for me, exchange a quick glance. Miss Raine lowers her gaze to her hands and leaves it there.

'I've talked to Miss Raine about it only to see what options you might have, Christian, so that you can consider everything knowing all you have to know.'

I throw Zach one of my nasty stares. 'Right.'

Miss Raine shifts a bit then takes a clip board. 'Here are your potential choices, as I can see them: You accept the place at the Company to grow in experience and credibility. If teaching is really your calling, you can take additional courses to gain accreditation, but I have to tell you that the best credential is experience, and lots of it.'

I want to snap back that her dancing CV is less than impressive, and so are her teaching methods, but I've put my blank ''you-can't-get-to-me'' face on. I will stay here till they're done, unless somehow they really push my buttons and then I'd just go. They can talk at me as much as they want, I will not sign that contract.

'The other option is, of course, that you carry on with your current plans and ruin your career.'

Zach clears his throat again. Maybe he should just say what he's got to say. This constant rattling is childish beyond measure.

Miss Raine rolls her eyes, takes a deep breath, then leans forward, putting her face right in front of mine to force me to make eye contact. 'But there are other options too. The world does not have to be all black or white. You're a young dancer of great promise, The Company recognises this. I've talked to Rebecca, she is considering alternatives for you.'

'What? No! I won't be another charity case.' That's it. That was my button. I'm up and on my way out. But somehow Miss Raine, in all her stature and pouting sternness, has been faster than me. She's blocking my path.

'Ah! As if! Do you think Rebecca cares at all about you and your past, or about charity, for that matter, unless it's the type that brings finance? Do not kid yourself, Christian. She wants you because the audience will want to see you, and they will pay to do so. We might be artists, Christian, but art is also a business.'

I freeze then snort. 'I won't be her prize pony either.' I try to sidestep her, but she's moved ahead of me again.

'Take. A. Seat.'

I glare right into her eyes.

She doesn't even blink. 'Do you really want to leave this room without finding out all your options? Really?'

Zach comes over to stand right beside us, we are back in that weird triangle thing again, but even closer. 'Christian, when have we not had your best interest at heart?'

I take a step back. 'I never asked for it.'

'You don't have too. Christian, I saw how you were with the kids in Bangalow, and I know about you getting Jayden into your break dancing crew.'

Miss Raine moved a little sideways, closing the gap between her and Zach even more. 'And I remember what you did for Scout. She has come back to every camp we offer since, and she is doing really well.' Miss Raine narrows her eyes as if she is assessing me, as if there is something there to disclose. 'You already have the foundation to be a great teacher, because great teachers care.'

I study this woman, so sharp, so highly critical, so easily frustrated with us. But yes she cares, she might have a weird rub-you-the-wrong-way style to go about it, but she has always been there for us.

I walk away and take my seat.

She's right behind me and back in her chair. 'As I have said, this does not have to go into extremes. The company would consider you for certain projects rather than being on their full time roster. That could provide you with some income and the experience that you still sorely need. The Memorial, as I understand it, has limited budget for teachers. It is expected most will give their time up freely. If employment is what you want from the Memorial, it might have to be under a different capacity.'

I'm staring at her through slits again. What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Zach shoves my shoulder a little. 'I for one might need help to run this place, you know, be responsible for the keys, the upkeep, the keeping stuff from 'walking off', was it?'

A little laugh escapes me.

'I'm sorry to have come on to you so strongly like this,' Miss Raine said. 'But some people just have to be cornered to listen.'

'And we're not telling you what to do. We just want you to know there are options to consider that you might not have known or thought off.'

I nod.

'So, Christian,' Miss Raine has gone all stiff backed again. 'When you want to discuss this with me, please make an appointment following the usual procedures. The academic year is about to end. Most students will be leaving the housing within the week. You have stayed with us for many of your holiday periods, so we have extended your accommodation till a week before the next semester, when you will be expected to move. Do let us know if there is something we can do to help you with this.'

She smiles crookedly when she spots that I'm biting my lower lip from the inside. 'And no, this is not a charity case, this is what we do for our students.' Then she got up. 'Christian, Zach.' She nods once to each of us and leaves.

Zach just sits there with an overly composed face.

I'm lost for word. I'm in that place again when I have a choice. I can be glad and thankful, or I can be offended.

But I hate help, I hate it to the deepest of my guts. The one time since I was a child that I asked for it, when I just wanted Tara to listen, she had blown me off. It still hurt to think of it. Yet in every other way, she had tried to help, and I had pushed her away, time and again. But then Samm-. I take a steadying breath and force myself to think his name. Sammy had been there too. He had been my rock when all was going crazy with the trial. I hadn't asked for his help, he had given it, forced it on me in so many ways, and he had saved me. That had backfired too, of course. The guy had grown a crush on me, yet I remained his friend, throughout. I had stood by him, one of those rare moments in my life that I can be truly proud of.

Maybe pride was the problem. I hate owing something. But these people here, Zach, Miss Raine, they actually want nothing from me but my happiness, not that it's any business of theirs, but isn't it what I would want for Jayden, for Scout, for any pupils of mine? Wouldn't I too think that I know better, that I have the answers?

'Okay, I'm gonna go now.'

'Are you gonna let us help, Christian?'

I nod. 'Within reason, yes.'

 **Author's note: Thank you so much for all of you who are reading this. Christian is thinking a lot about who he is and how he reacts to situations. Will that be of any help for when he finally gets to see Tara again?**

 **As always, please do leave a comment below, whether just a passing thought or criticism, it's through feedback that writers learn!**


	8. Chapter 8 - Visiting

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Miss Raine and Zach have cornered Christian into rethinking his choices, informing him that he has more options than he could have thought of to become the teacher he wants to be. But Christian has greater priorities to face, Tara fell flat on her back, and he still has no news._

 **Visit**

I sneak in the house as quiet as can be, hoping no one will be up yet. There's a lot of post it notes on my door from Kat asking where I am. I leave them there and grab fresh clothes from my cupboard. I am out in a flash and head for the pool. I shower and change there as quickly as I can then back onto my bike and straight to the hospital.

I'm early. Good. I get my phone out and go online. But what should I look for? I have no idea what happened to Tara but that they were planning a surgery, so that's what I type in: spine surgery. Blimey, that's when I hate the internet. How am I supposed to find what I need when there are thousands of potential search matches, and more than half of them have words fished out from ancient Greek that make no sense to me?

 _Time to smarten up then, Cheds._

Spinal surgery recovery. That's better. I scan through the bunged up narrative bits in search for lists till I find a column of inviting bullet points.

Really, she might be walking already, after just one day?

I check the time, still too early. Why on earth ten o'clock? When I'd broken my shoulder they would always wake me up at dawn!

I check the article again and find shopping suggestions. I run to the nearest local supermarket, get some fruits, fruit juice - supposedly she might need some fibre - and I pick some chocolate too for good measure. I check the magazines, was about to get one about dance but put it back down with a shiver. I get myself a sandwich cause I'm already starving and munch on it while I walk back up.

There's a different person behind the welcome desk, but she too speaks like a robot, giving me Tara's room details without even looking at me.

I follow the direction with a racing and panicky twinge in my chest. I roll my shoulders to ease it out a bit, and stretch the crank in my neck as I walk down the corridor, my soles making that weird squishing sound that only seems to happen on hospital linoleum. In the room there's an old lady on one side of the dividing curtain, but I can see a glimpse of Tara's parents at the back. Their eyes wide, their features twisting, they look like they are being tortured.

'Turn to your side, gently but fast, all in one go,' a stranger's voice says. And it doesn't make sense. Gently but fast? What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Tara moans, and it's not a good one. Her mother closes her eyes as if it's just too much to take.

And then there's a succession of ripping sounds, like a whole school full of kids undoing the Velcro on their shoes one after the other.

'You do this strap first, then the next...'

I step forward. I am not sure why but it's like I'm drawn to the tragedy, like I know that what I'm going to see is going to hurt, to harm me, to haunt me for days to come, but I still go. We, human, must be masochists, all of us.

And sure enough there's Tara, even paler than usual, her hair in a messy bun at the side of her neck, being strapped into a weird kind of contraption that thickens her waist and chest. How I wish I could still joke with her about her training bra, cause this ain't funny, not by a long stretch.

'Christian!' She smiles, but it rips my heart. I want to rush to her, to hold her, to push away those hands that are forcing her into a cage.

'I... I'll come by later.'

And before anyone else can say a thing, I chicken out.

I pace the corridors, lots of corridors. It's amazing how many corridors I go through and yet I still somehow find my way back to her room. If only I could have got lost. But I walk back in. The old lady is still asleep.

Tara's bed is empty, the sheet folded over in a triangle where she must have got up. Relief washed through me again. She was up, she might be walking!

But would she ever dance though? The relief crashed to the bottom of my stomach and hardened into a tight ball. I couldn't care less, but Tara would. She needed something to push, to probe, to test to the limits, and it has been dance all her life. It had been me too, when she got half the chance, before I pushed her away each time she tried. I couldn't be her project, I could never be. So what would I be to her if I couldn't be that?

Her parents look up when I step in. 'Oh, Hi Christian.' Her mother stands for a seconds and gets right back down as if that had required more energy than she had to spare. 'It's so good to see you. Tara's just gone for a rehab session.'

'Oh okay.' I'm about to sit down on the one last chair but then I glance at them. Tara's mum is wringing her fingers, her nails bitten so short, the skin around is raw red. A worrier. Big time. Tara's dad, whom I like so much for his down to earth vibe. is pacing the floor , again and again, from his wife, past the bed, to the edge of the curtain and back again. He is a man of action, always on the move all day with the farm till the evening when he finally rested. But there, in the middle of the day, in this hospital room, he is like a caged wallaby.

'Okay, I'll be back later then.' I couldn't stay here. I would go mad, and drive them crazy. I was too restless, I was too worried, I was too much like them. It's Kat who should be here, cheering them up. Or Samm- Why can't I still think his name without it hurting, without the last syllable catching? He would be great here, calm and serene, wise and kind, funny yet empathetic. He had been the best of us. He really was.

I gulp the tightness in my throat away, but it stays stuck. I drop the bag of groceries on the bed and turn away before they can call me back. Probably, in their situation, anyone would do, a distraction of sort, but I wasn't up to it. One of those many things where I was just not up to par.

I wander my way back when the rehabilitation sign catches my attention. Without even thinking about it I follow the direction till I'm facing two double doors, locked by one of those keypad thing. I reverse a few steps and lean against the wall just round the corner. It's only a little while later that two hospital staff, one in blue one in green, walk past and type the code in. Before the doors close, I sneak in.

I take a deep breath and try to look as confident and self assured as I can be. I doubt it's gonna work, but those who do not try...

There's a loud bang to my left, a sharp cry, then some weird giggling sobbing sound. Tara. She's in pain and she's covering it up.

My feet take me forward at double speed. Tara is in a large room, clinging onto a male nurse or doctor or something, a tall strapping bloke with a broken nose. He doesn't even pull her up. He waits there, doing nothing to help her. I nearly burst into the room.

'That's it Tara, well done,' he said with a deep calming voice, so I hold back.

'Maybe one more, okay?'

'You said five, one more than yesterday, I have three more to do.' She sounds so pig headed, just the way she always do when she wants to prove you wrong.

'Baby steps, Tara.'

'Can't do anything else now, can I?'

I nearly walk away at that. Her pain is always too much for me to bear. How could I ever be her boyfriend, a good boyfriend, if I can't even be here when she needs someone most? But right now, the person she needs is him, holding her up as she grabs the handle of one of those Zimmer frames, her feet twisting under her, her soles not even making proper contact with the floor. This girl who could stand with just two toes connecting to the ground whilst her whole body stretched into an arabesque. That girl who now could not even walk.

It tugs at me, that desire to just run away and forget about her. I'm not the right guy for her. I never was. I never would be. She'd said so, hadn't she? I couldn't not retreat. And she could not stop herself from sharing her every thought, and I couldn't cope with half of them. How could it ever work?

I slam the release button and nearly run out of the hospital. When I get to the revolving doors, Kat is on the other side. It could be comical how we both go the wrong way, and again, till I step back and let her make her way to me. But I'm not in a humorous mood. She grabs me into one of her super tight and desperate hug. I can't bring myself to reciprocate. 'She's doing her rehab work. But her folks are up there.'

She lets go of me and puts on one of her warm ''look-every-thing-is-fine'' smiles. 'Cool, I've got them some lunch too.' She holds up a plastic bag. 'You okay? Christian-'

'See you around,' I say with a shrug before I let the door system push me away.

There is no pain quite like seeing the person you love suffer in pain and you are helpless to do anything about it. So much for learning about myself and being more conscious of my choices. But when we face that kind of pain our deepest natural behaviour kicks in, fight or flight, and it has been flight for me for far too long.

 **Author's note: Do feel free to leave a comment, feedback is how I learn!**


	9. Chapter 9 - Tiptoeing on Broken Glass

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian finally made it to the hospital, but the short glimpse of Tara's struggle with the simplest walking task during her rehabilitation is enough to make him run from a pain he cannot cope with._

Tiptoeing on Broken Glass

Suddenly, I'm by the harbour. I must have been walking on autopilot but this is the last place on earth I want to be. I'm too near what used to be my run route, too near where we lost Sammy. Ah, there it is, his name, coming to me whole, at long last. Why now, when I'm so disoriented, so lost, in so much pain? Why I am choosing this time to unlock more heart ache? Am I really a glutton for punishment or something?

I veer off the main road and up the hill. I shake all thoughts away and break into a run. I only stop when I get to a grassy area that's just too inviting, until I recognise it.

WHAM. My whole body scrunches up as the memory assaults me.

I had rescued her from being stranded out of the club. She had been deep in talk with the bouncer. Making friends was that easy for her. I had shut her off all that while but that night I had opened up. I had let her in and she completely took over. I hadn't expected the fun side to her, the crazy walking, the race cheating, the night time dancing, on this very spot where she slipped and I had lowered her to the ground. How I tried to kiss her and she had rolled away, whatever fragile trust she grown for me tossed aside.

POW. That one was like a blow to the back of my legs and my kneecaps hit the ground.

She had kissed me on the beach, as we failed to catch that crazy dog. She had done the move, I had just waited. The taste of her still lingers, a different kind of saltiness from the one of the sea air. How much she had regretted it, how clearly she had let me know. 'It never happened.'

PUNCH. That one when goes straight to my stomach, bitterness coming up, dragging away the delicious salt.

I had tried to show her how dependable I could be, how I would never let her fall, how she needed to trust herself, how she could truly trust me. And maybe she had, till she saw Kat kissing me, when I had been stupid enough to let her. The sight of her, the shock on her face, the pain, the disgust. My stomach lurches again. She had run away and I'd run after her but never caught up.

Just thinking about it, I'm completely out of breath.

Some would say that having two terrific girls fight over you must be a real boost to the ego, but man is it not. Not when in the end they chose each other over you. Tara saw me as just a friend! Friend!

WHOOSH. I lose my balance and my forehead hits the ground. I kind of wish the ground would be harder, that it would actually hurt a little outside instead of just inside.

I did get there through to her, eventually, on a day where she had more fun I had ever seen her enjoy, and it had been with me. How did I ever think I could get away from the guilt of her fall? How could have I been so blind. But for crying out loud I had tried, I had asked, I had trusted her answers. But clearly she still didn't trust me enough. I had even got her snow. I had waited for her to come after me. She chose dance. She always chooses dance. And was Dance going to repay her now?

BAM. I let myself drop completely and roll on my back, my eyes blinded by the sharp light of the sun.

I'm not sure how long I stayed, playing back all the drama of our on/off relationship. How it never lasted. How I always walked. How she never held me back. How that needed to change.

Eventually, I recover and walk, but not away this time. I'm going back.

She's in her bed this time. Her mother, the only person at Tara's bedside, gets up the minute I walk in and taps the tip of Tara's foot poking out from under the sheet. 'I'll leave you two alone,' she says and exits the room.

And I just stand there, fiddling with the straps of my rucksack. I should have come with one of the others. It would have been easier, for me and for her. I can't be enough, I never was.

Tara smiles that shy one sided grin that just melts my insides. Does she really not know the effect it has on me?

'Come on, sit down.'

I aim for the chair the furthest from her but then I change my mind. I don't actually decide to but when I sit down in her mum's chair, I also take her hand. And she lets me. And we stay like this for ages. Just like we had on the last night of tour, we talk about this and that: the little events in hospital life, the nurses that were kind, the ones that were condescending. I had dislocated my shoulder too many times skating. It needed surgery to be fixed. I have the scars to prove it and stories of my own to contribute. The way she smiles when I tell her about Nurse Larry who was as camp as can be and yet the least derogatory one of all the nurses I'd met, it 's like I'm opening up my chest of treasure for her to see. But I'm not made of treasure, I'm made of dirt and darkness. She knows that.

'How long did you stay in hospital?'

'Only a few days. But I never stuck to the brace I had to wear, in the end the doctors had no choice but put me in a plaster cast.'

Tara looks at the monstrous white brace by the side of her bed. 'Well it's brace for me too, and I'm going to use it.' She puts on that determined face on that tells everyone she is not someone to mess with. But the mask slips off before it can take any kind of hold. 'But I'm going to be here for another few days, things are not going quite as well as they should.'

I just nod.

'You have to come and see me though, often.' She squeezes my hand really hard, as if to make me really pay attention, but I'm already all ears. 'Everyone is so busy.'

'And I'm not?' And there's that snap again. When will I ever stop getting riled up so easily like this? Her face dulls, her gorgeous smile fading away as she looks down at her fingers. They are nearly as red as her mother's. I take hold of her hand again. 'Course I'll come, I just wish I was a little more... entertaining, you know, more fun.'

'Christian, this is the most fun I had all day, trust me.'

'I doubt that, you saw Kat this morning.'

Tara rolls her eyes. 'And everyone else.' She shuffles in her bed but winces. Automatically, I'm on my feet. 'Are you alright, is there anything I can do?'

She smiles again with a gentle shake of her head. 'Don't worry about it.'

My jaw clench. 'What, is it too boring or something?'

Her gaze roams over my face, then becomes hard.

I sit back again, take a deep breath and soothe my features. 'Tara, I want to know, I really do. How are you, really?'

Tara sighs, it takes a while before she speaks again, even longer to make eye contact. 'I'm stranded on here, I can't even turn to my side without help, I can't walk, I can't get up, I can't pee by myself. Is that what you want to know?'

'Actually, yes.'

Tara grumbles. If she were mobile, she would be off.

'So everyone came then?'

Here's the eye roll again. Tara breathes deeply, but her chest catches and she winces. 'Yes, the nurses had to do a five minute rota thing.'

My throat tightens as jealousy rises in me. I should have been first, I should have been there.

When I look up at her again, she is beaming. 'Did you hear? Abi and Ollie got a place!'

It's amazing how all that happened just two days ago seems so distant. It's hard to believe that I haven't seen any of them. That they haven't even crossed my mind. Some kind of friend I am, all I have done is try to avoid them.

'That's - that's great. Wow, they were so worried. Wow, I'm - I'm so pleased for them.'

'Yes, it's great isn't it.' Her face darkens a bit. 'Ben didn't which is so bad, so ... weird. Maybe I should have talked him out of doing that other solo -'

'No, Tara, you can't think that way. He made his choice, end of story.'

She nods. 'He said he auditioned for Marcus. He is going tomorrow, to meet the Austin Company, to find out more about it.' Her face is all lit up again. Tara just shines in happiness for him. I want to share that feeling, but to be honest, all I do is worry. Is he the one she's going to chose, ultimately? Will she end up in Austin too? 'What about Grace?' I just about manage to ask.

'Grace has booked her ticket for Vietnam.'

'Oh.'

'I think she might be giving up on Dance again. So is Kat.'

'Oh.'

I just don't know where to look, so I settle on my own hands, now in my lap. My thumb is pushing into the other's nail bed. It's already getting red. Maybe red finger tips is one of those ''being in a hospital'' side effect.

We both wait. What will I say to her when she asks about my interview? If I want honesty from her, isn't that what I should be willing to give in exchange? When I look up, she is staring at me, probing, only to return to my face and back again to her hands. And I can't make myself speak.

'

 **Sorry folks for taking a while before posting this scene. I had to do some serious research on rehabilitation and on character motivation to build the rest of the plotline. I had to re-watch all the episodes for my research. I know, lucky me!**


	10. Chapter 10 - Tight Rope

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Seeing Tara in pain brought back a lot of heartache, but Christian faced his demons and went back to see her. How long will he be able to distract her from the fact that he wants to say no to what she wanted so much that has been snatched right from under her feet?_

Tight Rope

Tara isn't speaking either. It's like we have become mute. Or like strangers that so happen to be in the same room but have nothing to say to each other. The problem is that there is plenty to say, and none of it is safe.

Tara sighs and is about to speak. She looks determined, so much braver than me. No surprise there. She's always been braver. I'm a chicken.

'How about Miss Raine, did she come? Or Zach?' I blurt out.

Tara squint her eyes as if she sees right through my defences. She reaches out her side for a sippy cup, a funny thing with a straw that flicks out. She slurps on it for a second then puts it back down. 'I should be able to drink properly by now,' she lifts the arm that is furthest away from me along with the long tube attached to her forearm, 'but for some reason I'm still super queasy so I'm still on IV. Helps with the meds too I guess. That,' she indicates the pink cup with her chin, 'is because my mouth gets too dry with the air con.'

She gives me a defiant look, as if she is saying: ''if delaying tactics is what we're going for, two can play that game''. Maybe Tara is growing a lot faster than me. The Tara of old would have jumped at my throat by now.

'It's cute but I would have picked butterflies, not flowers,' I say with a gentle mocking tone that convinces no one.

'Rebecca came.'

My jaw drops. I can feel it dangling and I can't quite shut it back. There goes my attempt at aloofness.

'Hmm hmm.'

Tara just stares at me, so I scramble. 'That was kind.'

She shakes her head. Her eyes are closed, like I am so not worth her time that she is going to go back to sleep.

'Was that weird?'

'What, for her to come here? Of course not. Blimey, I fell during what was my audition for the Company, I worked with her for months, one would hope she would come and see me!' Tara is getting all hot and red, but I just can't track back now, my stomach is all twisted in knots. Maybe she already knows my decision, maybe she's just playing a cruel little game with me. 'What did she say?' I ask through tensed up jaws.

'Well, she didn't well give me a place, if that's what you're asking. And neither did she talk about anyone else's, for that matter.' She throws me a pointed glare that makes me gulp. 'Actually, she didn't say much at all, I was barely conscious.'

'Barely conscious! Why?'

'It's nothing.' She waves her hand as if to brush to whole subject away.

'Ah no, Tara, not again, don't shut me out.'

'You dare say that!' Tara takes in a sharp breath, then some fast shallow ones. Her back must be hurting her like mad and this tension isn't helping.

'Do you want me to call the nurse?'

'I want you to cut to the chase and tell me.'

I lean back in my chair, buying myself some time. A huge part of me just wants to joke, the other part wants to get out, and a minuscule little dredge pleads with the rest to just be strong and bite the bullet. It's like when Zach was challenging me to walk the tight rope and I was finding it so tough. I could give up, I could find excuses, or I could just get on with it.

'The interview went okay, I hated it, of course, but you've prepared me well.'

A bit of kindness emerges through the way she looks at me, but there is still so much weariness. Those steps I've got the take, I'm gonna have to take them very slow.

'And?'

'And she did offer me a place.'

The smile spreads on her face, but I can tell by the twitch in her cheeks that she is trying to hold it back. 'That's hardly surprising.'

'You were surprised Ben didn't get in.' Here I am again, one step back, procrastinating around the inevitable.

Tara nodded. 'Yes, but if she took Abi and Ollie in, I can see how you would fit too.'

And that rubs me the wrong way, I'm not even sure why. They are amazing dancers, but the comparison still grates me. Maybe Rebecca was simply going for ethnic quota to equal out the pale faces, maybe that was all there was to it. And I'm losing my balance.

She stretches for my hand. She is the one in the hospital bed, the one I should be comforting and she is the one reaching out to get me out of my funk. What is wrong with me?

'You have that depth, that intensity, Ben's not quite there yet, although I think he's growing.'

My teeth grate against each other and look for an innocent bystander to aim my unwarranted anger at. I hadn't noticed the cards now littering the short cupboard. They won't do: too much pink, too much fluff. I settle for the monitor behind Tara's face, the green line of her heart beat, the consistency of her oxygen levels. It becomes my spot, my focus, my life line. The constant beeping soothe me somehow, forcing my own heart and breathing to follow its patterns, two beats in, two beats out, till I calm down.

Tara waits for me to look at her again to speak. 'What are you going to do?' she asks with great caution.

I wobble. It's my choice again: I can step back, I can jump off, or I can stay there wobbling till I'm stable enough to carry on forward: blunt truth, lie, or something in between. 'I'm not completely decided yet.'

Tara shakes her head. The beep accelerates, so does my heart rate. I could do with a sippy cup too right now, my mouth's parched. Maybe I should lick my palms; it's like a swimming pool in there. I quickly wipe them on my jeans and take her hand back in mine. 'Tara, can you really see me, me, stuck in the corps?'

She gives me the darkest death stare she can muster. 'And what about our dream?'

I try to smooth my brow, but my eyebrows are not obeying, they are staying stuck up there in defiance. In the end, the Company was never my dream, it was everyone else's, never mine. 'How was it, for you, when you were there?'

Her eyes blink so quickly, for a moment I think her eyes are dry too, and hurting, but then she just stares at the ceiling and sighs. 'I hated it.'

'That's what I thought.'

And then she is crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her chest heaving as if in spasms. And it looks like agony, probably is. No more tottering, I run across to press the buzzer at the side of her bed, then I caress her forehead, pushing her hair gently aside. 'Shhh, Shhh, ' I say, just like my mother had when Drew or I were sick and unable to sleep. 'Shhh, shhh.'

A nurse rushes in. 'Tara, are you alright?'

'Pain, my back, pain,' she sobs.

'It's time for your meds anyway,' the nurse reassures, pushing the dial on one of the IV bags.

Tara's eyes flutter, then rest, sending the last tears rolling down to her neck.

'She is going to sleep now,' the nurse tells me, and there's suspicion in her eyes. She's right to be suspicious; I've hurt her, again. Guilty as charged.

'I'll get her mother.'

I grab my stuff but, before I escape, I leave a kiss on her forehead.

I find Jan in the nearby waiting area. She gets up the moment I'm near. Her smile disappears into a frown; my expression must be that bleak.

'They've given her more medicine.'

She nods, just like Tara does, with her lips slightly pinched. 'She's fallen asleep then?'

'Yes.' She looks so exhausted. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Actually, yes there is. She's going to be sleeping for a few hours now, and she's given me a list of things to pick up from her room. I've got the key but I would still prefer going in with someone from there, if that's okay? And I could do with some company.'

My turn to nod. 'Sure thing.'

But my mind is whirring like crazy. Her mum might be just picking things up but soon it would be packing, right? Eventually, Tara's going to have to go home, in the outback, out of my reach, out of my care. In a few days, that's what she said. My heart pumps in my chest just as if there's imminent danger in the vicinity. My heart's right to prepare itself, whenever that move will be, it will be too soon.

My life's been a nasty horror ride trying to knock me sideways for these last forty-eight hours, but it looks like the worst drop is lurking just round the corner, and there won't be any safety net.


	11. Chapter 11 - Muddled Up

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: In a return to old patterns, Christian found it hard to talk to Tara about his decision not to join the company, but when he finally hinted about it, it only resulted in making Tara hurt even more. How is he going to cope with facing Tara's mum after all that has happened?_

Muddled up

Jan goes to the nurses' counter, has a few words with one of them then comes back to me with a new found energy in her step.

I follow her out and I just don't know why but I'm scrambling for something to say. I've lived in this woman's home for nearly a month and I can't find a single thing to talk about. It's like an interview all over again, but one in which I have to choose the topic through which to sell myself rather than just answer questions. It's so much worst. And it's with this woman, a woman that I really like and value, the mother of the girl I love. I doubt Tara told her everything about our tormented relationship, but surely she knows enough that I have to regain her trust. Talk about high stakes for rebuilding a good impression. And it freezes me.

We reach the plaza outside the hospital without exchanging one word. She stops right after the revolving doors, looking this way and that. 'I have no idea how to get to the boarding house from here,' she says with a shy smile.

'Well, there are buses, but if we walk it would take, I don't know, about half an hour. Or I have my bike.'

Jan cocks her head to peer at me. 'A motorbike?'

I shrug. 'Yeah.'

'And you are careful with it.'

'Yeah, of course.' I swallow hard, it's always tough for me when she's all motherly like that. I know full well it's ingrained in her, that it's instinctive kindness, but it always reminds me that my mum isn't there to do that for me anymore. The sadness is too quickly followed by anger mixed with stubborn pride. And that bothers me even more. Why can't emotions come as a individual unit, single and simple. Can't I just be grateful for her care without all the guilt, pain, and disdain tagging along? But they do, and my tone has been so rude.

'I could do with a walk.'

'Okay.' I lead her forward. We have walked down three streets before she speaks again: 'How did you get to know Sydney so well?'

'We've moved around a lot when I was growing up, but always here, in Sydney, and I travel everywhere on my skateboard. I can't claim to know it like the back of my hand, but close enough.'

Jan sighs and stares at the top of the buildings beside us. 'The first time I came to Sydney was during Tara's first year. I can't even imagine living in a city, let alone growing up in one.'

'Like everything else, it has its pros and cons.'

'Hmm hmm.'

'It can be hard at times, especially in the not-so-nice parts of town, but you learn quickly to be tough enough. What I really love about Sydney's the sea. I could completely live out of a city, but never inland, I love my surfing too much.'

Jan gave me one of those disarming smiles that makes me feel like I'm five again, and there goes another mix of reactions: it's cute and also damn right insulting.

'Skate boarding, surfing, dancing, all very physical stuff.'

'Yeah.'

'What do you get out of it?'

'What, dancing?'

'Dancing and the rest.'

I glance at her from the corner of my eyes. Normally, when people ask me questions about myself, my stomach goes all tight, like I'm readying for a punch. But she's looking around as if it's not remotely personal. I guess Tara's like that too, she thinks something, she says it. Or at least she used to...

I want to answer, to be more open with Jan, I trust her enough, but it so goes against my instincts, my deeply ingrained habits. I take a deep breath and summon up what it feels like to crest a wave, to nail the perfect flick or spin, to reach for those super high leaps. 'It's like- it's you and your body against the elements, but also your body against your mind, when it says no and you still push and do it, when you toy with that balance between what you've done before and what you're willing to do to go that bit further. When you push your body that far, nothing else matters, you're let loose to test your limits. It's exhilarating.'

Jan stops for a second and looks at me as if I've suddenly become very interesting, and deep. 'Tara says she dances because she wants to feel like she's flying but when I watch her dance, it's like magic. She isn't flying but she can make me feel like it. When she dances, she takes me to a different place, I can be someone else for that little while, and then the dance stops and I realise that this is my daughter, and I feel so proud.'

I nod. I completely got what she means. Tara just drifts off into that special dance place of hers, and it is magical. I wish I could.

'I've only seen you dance a few times, Christian. When you dance, you make me feel something else.'

I stop in my track, my thoughts crashing around in my head in a complete mayhem of incoherence, and not just a hint of anxiety. What?

'When you dance, I don't know, you make me feel ... strong.'

Jan carries walking a few steps and stops to check on me. But I'm stuck for thoughts, words or movement. Her face brightens suddenly. 'Ah, a chemist, I need something in there. Do you mind?'

I shake my head, and it somehow puts things back in some kind of order as she disappears through the shop's doors. Strong? What was that supposed to mean? How can I make others feel strong when I don't ever feel strong enough to cope with my own mess?

I'm still pondering when she comes back out. I stride beside her for the rest of the journey, still searching for something to say and awkwardly failing. But then I check her face, and Jan looks completely content, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes as we walk on. Ah, at last a single un-confusing emotion: relief. I shall enjoying whilst it lasts.

I let Jan in the Boarding House and lead her up the stairs to Tara's room. The door opens up right before we get there.

'Christian,' Grace shouts. 'Oh my goodness, where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you, even Rebecca. Supposedly she's asked Abigail and Ollie about you. What's that about?'

Here are the questions again, probing me, picking at my defences. I rattle my throat to clear the tightness within it, but without much success. 'Tara's mum just needs to pick some stuff up.'

'Oh I see,' Grace moved to the side to let us in, but returns her attention straight back to me. 'You've been to see her, haven't you, please tell me you've been.'

'Yeah, just now.'

Grace couples a dramatic sigh with an eye roll. 'That took you long enough!'

'I had stuff to do.'

'Oh really, like?'

I snarl. 'Since when do you care anyway? Wasn't what happened to Tara exactly what you wished for?' I hate the venom flooding my mouth, but that girl has been nothing but bad news for Tara. Who was she to play the caring friend now? The moment I hear the gasps, coming from both Grace and Jan's lips, I regret my lapse.

Grace looks lost for a second, eyes haggard, then she snatches her bag and storms out.

I turn to face Tara's mum, already beside her shelves. 'I'm sorry, I'm tired and -'

Jan just put her hand up towards me. 'Don't, there's no need. Let's just do what we came here to do.' She gets a folded piece of paper out of her bag and I don't know what to do with myself. Using the excuse of tiredness brings it all back crashing in me. All I want to do is curl up on Tara's bed and sleep. It looks like in a little pink and purple island of calm within the yellow and red chaos of Grace's somewhat gruesome decor. I settle for just perching at the side of it, but manage to topple Sir Joshua who tumbles to the ground. I rescue it. 'I'm surprised this hasn't already found its way to the hospital. Is there a hygiene rule against manky old teddy bears?'

Jan doesn't laugh at my joke but there's laughter in her smile. 'No there isn't, and he is top of the list,' she points at the first line.

I toss Sir Joshua up. It bounces on her elbow back towards me, making me crash into the pillows as I reach for it. I hand it to her this time to be carefully placed into one of Tara's dance bags.

'As you're busy here, maybe I'll just get a few things from my room too.'

'Do you plan on going back tonight then?'

'Erm,' my hand reaches out to the back of my head, as it always does when I feel unsure about something. Unsure and worried I overstepped the mark. All I want to do is to reclaim a place in Jan's good books. And I wonder again what Tara might have told her. How little she might have omitted. Honesty and openness, that's the kind of family bond they have. That's probably why she's always been so forthright. Maybe that's why I'm not. 'I thought you might want a guide back to the hospital?'

Jan nodded. 'I'm not sure where Neil is. He just had to get out, as you can imagine he finds hospitals so ... frustrating, I guess.'

'He's got that right. Frustrating and scary, not a good mix.'

'No, especially for him. I'll call him and find out where he's escaped too.' She reaches out for her phone.

Some cloth on the floor catches my attention. Beige with leaf patterns on it. Tara's pyjama top, the one that came with those frilly shorts. The one she wore during the tour. The one I lifted to massage cream onto her back... Before I can stop myself, I've grabbed it and stuffed it in my back pocket. And then suddenly I feel like a thief and a pervert. Guilt and disgust. Not nice. Maybe I could drop it back again. But wouldn't I look even more conspicuous if I were caught doing that? I'm about to try when the door slams open behind me. I turn in a flash, drawing my T-shirt over the pocket as fast as I can.

'I'm so sorry, Mrs Webster,' Grace mumbles. 'Christian's right, I wasn't the best kind of friends to Tara. I got her into more trouble than out, and I'm really sorry for all that stuff, but I never wanted this to happen to her, and I really really want her to get better, I truly do.'

'I trust that,' Jan says simply. 'She will be fine, Grace, she will be, I'm sure of it.'

Grace glances back at me. 'I'm going to Singapore, did you know?'

I nod. 'Tara mentioned it.'

'I'm hoping for the cliché, travel to the east and find myself, and maybe some peace.'

I stare at this messed up girl and sigh. 'Someone once told me that peace is to be found within yourself.'

Grace bursts out laughing, in stark contrast with the tears that still wet her lashes. 'Well, that someone must be very wise then.'

'In a lot of ways, I think my mum was, yes.'

That sobered her up, her put on smile straightening up into something more genuine. 'We're having a party tonight, for all of us leaving, of course you're coming, right?'

'Hmm, no, thanks, all I'll do tonight is sleep.'

'You'll have to find somewhere else to crash then, cause no one will let you sleep here tonight.'

My eyes drift slightly towards Tara's bed as if Grace had seen my earlier thoughts.

'The rumour has it that you're not going to accept a place into the Company. Are you?'

I sense Jan's stare at the back of my head. I shake my head nonetheless.

Grace whips her arm up in the air. For a second I think she's going to shout ''Viva la tour!'', but she's got four fingers up. 'Four of us! Four escaping the nonsense they drive into us for three years, that illusion that the Company is all we should ever want, that barrier to stop us from ever thinking about what we might want for ourselves. We should have been friends, Christian, we so should have.' She rushes to me and crushes my chest into an uncomfortable hug that I don't really want to be a part of. 'Good luck, Christian, very good luck to you. And as they say back in England, ''Keep Dancing!''

When I twist to check Jan's expressions her eyes are narrowed and calculating.


	12. Chapter 12 - Goodbyes

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian finally got to say to Grace exactly what he thinks of her. Sadly that was in the presence of Tara's mum, not a great way to regain her trust and appreciation._

Goodbyes

'Maybe you should stay here. It's important to say goodbye to your friends.'

I stare at Jan trying to uncover the layers behind the words. What does she mean to say? That she's looking forward to me saying goodbye to Tara too? Goodbye for good? I'm sure that's what she means and yet her face is still so kind, so caring, maybe a little embarrassed too.

'And I might have a favor to ask.'

Well that takes me by surprise. Her candor tells me it's something good. My natural instincts tell me it's bound to be bad.

Jan comes to sit next to me on Tara's bed. 'I was wondering whether you could be with Tara tomorrow morning. We have a meeting and it would be good if she had someone to distract her a bit.'

I'm gobsmacked for a second. I can't think of anyone else worse for distracting Tara, but I'm selfish enough not to say no. 'Yes, of course I can.'

'Good, thank you.' She taps my knee. ' I'll wait here for Neil to get me. Why don't you go and get some sleep before your party?'

I shrug. 'I don't think I'm up to it anyway.'

'Sometimes it's good to make yourself. You won't have many other chances to say goodbyes, and it's a great opportunity to get them done all at once.' I look at this woman and marvel at how people can be so many things at the same time: Zach's strength and humility, Abigail's bows and drive, Jan's kindness and practicality. Tara who used to be so upfront and yet the complete ingénue. These last three years had toughened her up, maybe far too much.

I don't even realise I'm yawning but Jan takes that as my answer and shoos me off the bed. 'Go, sleep, be fresh for tomorrow.'

I nod and leave the room, Tara's pyjama top - my guilty treasure - still stuck in my back pocket.

When I get to my room, all of Silent Luke's stuff is already in bags and suitcases but for a pair of jeans and T-shirt I presume he plans to wear later. He's even got his sleeping bag on the bare mattress, ready for a quick exit. At least, he is nowhere to be seen.

Once again I'm going to find myself facing an empty side. When the fragile guy I shared with during first year had quit within weeks, Sammy had moved in. It had been a great swap, not that I was grateful at first. Ah, the mess! But Sammy had completely won me over, had wriggled his way in and became my best friend, the one I could rely on, always. No matter what, he had stuck by me, and for some reason, he was the only one who could tell me off without making me angry. Not that I listened anyway.

But when he had gone, he had left such a gaping hole. I had been the one doing the packing, removing all the things he would never use again, hollowing the cuckoo's nest he had cluttered around himself, around me. After that initial night when everyone had crashed in our room, I had been left to drift, all alone.

I know everyone gave me a real hard time for using my mourning as an excuse to bail out, but which one of them could have gone back to that room with him gone from it? None, that's how many. Not that they ever thought of that, not that I challenged them about it.

It's not that I had planned it but, coming back late in third year and having that room filled by first years had been such a blessing, so was being paired up with Silent Luke, someone who would never even think to try to take his place in the friendship stakes. This empty side of the room should mean nothing to me, but it brings back too much, and my chest is all constricted again, my breathing shallow and bitty, but I refuse to cry. _I'm just tired, far too tired_ , I tell myself over and over.

I take Tara's top out of my pocket and plunge my nose in it. It reeks of heat cream, so I fold it over to where the herbal scent of her shampoo is stronger and wedge it right between my cheek and my hand. I let myself drop on my bed face down, hugging this little bit of Tara in a bundle like she would her teddy bear. And I don't give a toss if anyone finds me like that. Let them think what they will.

Why not make it a dreadful Goodbye Party?

I shouldn't have listened to Jan. Goodbye parties are the worst.

Abigail and Ollie are trying really hard not to look smug, yet they barely manage to stop grinning the second they look at each other. They eye me up cautiously though, but I avoid them like the plague.

Grace is busy pretending she isn't friendless but Ben isn't around, or at least not yet, so she hovers from group to group with that fake smile plastered on.

And I stand there like a lemon realising that in the great scheme of things, apart from those who have been my close friends, I don't actually know any of my class mates. I'm about to fly out when relief washes through me at the sight of the blond curls that never fail to cheer me up. I wish she could claim the same of me, but she too has suffered the Christian-train-wreck. And yet there she is, bouncing towards me with her beaming smile.

'Christian!' Kat's hug is one that I welcome and do not want to let go. 'Are you okay?' she asks in a cautious murmur.

'It's all a bit much for me right now, but yeah, I'm alright. I went to see Tara this afternoon,' I say quickly before she gets to ask.

'Oh, I'm glad, she was so worried.'

I just nod. Of course Tara would worry. No matter how bad I treat her, she'll always worry, just like I will always worry about her. Doesn't mean that it's ever going to be enough to make it work.

'Are you gonna spill the beans, then?'

I look at Kat's wide blue eyes and let myself open up. No one could be as understanding, and it feels good not to be judged, to be wholly accepted, and yet it's also somewhat unchallenging.

'I'm quitting too!' she shouts too loudly.

I put a finger on my lips to shush her a bit. I'm happy for everyone to know my choices, but I'm starkly reminded that I don't actually know for sure what those might be right now. 'Kat, I'm not quitting, I'm just gonna go a different route.'

Kat's got that amazing twinkle in her eyes that comes out from all the goodness inside she can't quite contain, there's too much of it. 'That's good Christian. I have fun dancing, I really do, and I love it in so many ways, but it's different, it means something to you.'

I stare at her, trying to convey all the annoyance bubbling inside me. I know I can't express in words lest I want to lose one more friendship, one that is already a bit tenuous. But I'm getting really fed up with people telling me what my dancing's supposed to mean to me when I don't even know myself.

'Come on, let's do some!'

I don't make sense of what she's just said until she's dragging me across the party to the stereo, changes the track to one of my favorite hiphop tracks and whacks it right up. I might not know exactly what dancing means to me, but I love what it does, how it frees my mind, so I just let it.


	13. Chapter 13 - Rehab

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Goodbye parties have one positive side: they can give some sense of closure. But Christian promised to be with Tara whilst her parents are at a meeting, and there's plenty unresolved and precarious issues there still to be dealt with._

Rehab

I don't like being wrong but I don't mind accepting when others are right, and Jan had been, completely so. I might hate goodbye parties on principle but at least now my goodbyes are done and dealt with. To anyone who asked about my future, I just made my eyes all stern and dark and answered ''I'm considering my options''. No one challenged me after that.

No matter what, even if I don't know what my future actually might look like with The Company, I'm quite certain I will see Ollie and Abigail before long. Kat's staying put in Sydney for the time being, checking out acting courses and casting rolls. The rest, they can go if they so wish, no love lost. Apart maybe from Ben, whom I like despite myself. To be honest, right now I prefer him being as far from Tara as possible. Scared of the competition? I wish I could say: ''what? no, of course not!'', but I'd be lying to myself. I don't need more obstacle in winning Tara over than just being me.

I go through the hospital on auto-pilot and find my way around like I've got this Tara tracking sonar. Neil and Jan get up the moment I walk into Tara's room, their smiles tight with both worry and relief, and I'm not sure I want to know which one I am responsible for. It might even be both.

'Ok Tara Banana, see you in a little bit. We should be back before the lunch curfew.' Neil taps me on the shoulder. 'Thanks, City Boy.'

I just nod back. Tara isn't looking straight at me, but following her parents with a concerned gaze.

I wait for a few seconds, but she's now only looking at her own hands. I try to stave off the anger rising up in me. Yes, yesterday had been a mess. Yes, she had got really upset, I had made her so, but couldn't we turn that page already?

I stop myself from flipping round and back out. I go to sit by her bed instead. I've made a promise to Jan I would be here to distract Tara, I will just have to summon some deeply buried clown from somewhere within me.

Tara's cheeks are hollow, like she's chewing the insides. 'Why can't they realise I'm not a clueless kid anymore.'

'You're not.' No, she is not, not anymore. Abigail, Grace and I together have seen to that. Oh, and Life. Life and Death, they got right in there too.

'So why the heck do they think they can hide they're off to the bank, or to the insurance people, hey? What makes them think I can't work it out?'

Tara's face reddens, her eyes narrowed and fierce. I have two choices, I can go all wise and adult, or I can dig in right alongside her. 'That's grown-ups for you, one day they'll wake up and be all surprised that we're adults too.'

Tara snorts and sniggers at me. 'Too right they will.' And just like that, the page has been turned and we're fighting the same corner.

'Bank or Insurance, huh?'

'One or the other , or both. But to be honest,' Tara rubs her face with her hands, 'I'm not sure I want to know.'

'I guess they wish they'd sued the Academy last year.'

Tara gives me a strange look, one that ponders how I've got to know about this. After all, we were not on friendly terms back then, far from it. Me and Kat, no matter what she'd said, we were on the hit-list of hate at that time. When she had needed us most, we were the ones backstabbing her.

'How-?' She turns her eyes away from me. 'I guess you're right.'

The tall physiotherapist with the crooked nose comes in as if he is master of the place, strutting. 'Hey Tara, how are you doing?' He glances at me for a second as if I am totally insignificant. 'Ready for it?'

Tara nods.

'Okay, let's do it.' He comes to stand right next to her on the other side of the bed from me. 'Knees up-'

'Brace the middle, roll to the side,' she says and does just that.

'And swivel up', they say together, and she is perching on the side of the bed. She reaches for her brace and there goes the thousands scratchy sounds as she straps herself in over her loose T-shirt and grey joggers. She turns her face a little towards me, I can just about see her smile in profile. 'Fetching, hey!'

'Don't, Training Bra. It might be fetching as hell, but we're not swapping names I'm afraid.'

The physio throws me a puzzled and not altogether pleased look, but a giggle is shaking Tara's rib cage, and it's music to my ears. But then, she sighs. 'I'm gonna try the toilet first.'

The physio's face turns a bit uncomfortable. 'You need the kit?'

She laughs a little darkly. 'Better be prepared.'

Tara takes a deep breath, aligns her walking frame and stands up, so shakily at first that I reach out to her. The physio warns me with a glare; I sit right back down.

One step. Another. Her walking is agonisingly slow. She reaches for the door, slides it open, shuffles a few more steps and closes it again behind her. The physio leaves the room and comes back. A few seconds later, the door slides a bit open again and Tara's hand shots out, receives the tube-like thing he holds out, and disappears.

A hiss, then a sigh, then a tinkle. I don't know what to do with myself. I could whistle, but how obvious would that be? How awkward would that make her feel? So I just take hold of Sir Joshua and arrange and rearrange his golden bow. I rush of guilt warms my cheeks. Tara's top is still under my pillow. I'm gonna need to find a way to put it back where it belongs.

All the while, the physio studies the notes on Tara's folder at the end of her bed. Tara comes out, more slowly still, her face pale and clammy.

'Walking first? Now that you're up?'

Tara angles her walker in increments till she's facing out, and off she goes, snail pace, out of the room and into the corridor, Mr physio hot on her trail. Before I even have time to wonder what I'm supposed to do, she's back. By the look on her face, this simple task is excruciating. She smiles weakly at me and proceeds to slowly turn around, five centimetres at a time till her back is facing me again. The velcro gets all undone, the brace hooked on the walker. 'Lose contact, side drop-turn,' she says lying down in one smooth movement.

'Good. Feet first.' The physio puts his hand away from Tara's toes and she pointes her feet to touch them, then away again. Her toenails still look all hurt from the dancing she did only days ago, but her extensions are still amazing. Then Tara places her hands to the side of her hips. Her breathing becomes overly loud, as if she has to make a conscious decision to get the air in and out. She bends one knee to tap her toes to the mattress a few times, then the other side.

It's like an horror show, blood-less, scream-free, brightly lit horror. This is a girl who two days ago danced on stage as if she was suspended in the air, twirling, leaping, controlling every inch of her body to transport everyone back to the graces of ancient Greece. She is now stuck in a bed, barely able to lift her knee up. And yet I'm glued to the pathos, my eyes following each painful little tap, each replacement of her heel on the bed, no matter how sick I feel in my stomach, no matter how much I wish I could watch through my fingers, how I wish I could switch channel and make it all go away, when I can watch the bloodiest scariest movies on TV without so much as a blink.

'Let's try the hamstring stretch again.'

Tara's eye-roll turns into a displeased stare that I thought she only reserved for me, and somehow I'm jealous that I'm not the one receiving it. Maybe I'm a masochist after all.

'Come on, it's looking good, you're ready.'

'What? like more ready than last night?' And here's the snap.

'More ready than last night for sure, come on.'

With more forced breath, Tara slowly raises her leg up, like a super slow motion grand battement.

'Not straight, Tara, bend it.'

That at least brings a sigh of relief from her lips.

'Hold your knee, pump your ankle.' He places his hands over hers then helps her move her foot up and down a few times before she takes over. 'See, that's excellent, well done.'

And Tara beams at me, who is doing nothing but stare, and yet I'm filled with the strange feeling that makes me want to sit straighter.

Another doctor walks in whilst she is completing the set on the other leg, he talks to the old woman a little before coming to Tara's side of the dividing curtain. 'Good morning Tara, this is looking good.'

Tara smiles politely at him.

'Are your parents not here, then?'

'No, they have a meeting of some sort,' she says with that edge of annoyance back in her tone.

'Ah, I was coming to talk about your hospital release.'

Her eyes brightened up instantly. 'When can I go?'

'Depending on progress, maybe in two days, maybe a little more, we shall see. Please get your parents to come and find me when they come back, I need to talk to them about arrangements.'

Tara nods as both physicians step out.

My heart is racing like crazy in my chest as if have been running a race instead of having sat on my bum for the last half an hour. There's no noise as such, but it's like a starting gun has been fired, and I'm off. 'Coming back,' I tell Tara as I follow the two men.

I reach them a few doors down along the corridor. 'Excuse me? Where will Tara go? Surely she's not going home when she can't even properly walk yet?'

The green and blue clad men exchange a look. 'I'm afraid everything to do with our patients is confidential, and only discussed with them and their families.'

'I get that, but come on, in two days? Do you really see her do the ten hour trip it'll take to get her home? In the middle of the countryside where they are miles away from any kind of town? Really?'

The physio taps the other doctor's arm. 'I'll let you handle this.'

Dr Harrison, as it says on his badge, looks at me with piercing eyes. 'No indeed, staying somewhere near would be much better. Any car ride would be very painful for at least the first month.'

'Well, I might be able to help with that.' I don't want to sound pleading, so I make myself business like: straight back, confident stance, strong gaze. No prince charming for me right now, I want the charisma of Von Rothbart in Swan Lake when he charms the whole court. 'I know you can't tell me specifics about Tara, I respect that, but maybe you can just tell me what a patient like her might require in terms of best environment. If I knew just that then I could go away from here and find that place for her. Her parents have enough on their minds without adding to their list. It's the least I could do, really.'

He measures me up and nods. 'Steps will be difficult. Everything should be as open plan as possible, easy access, all on one floor. Baths will be out of the question, so easily accessible shower cubicle are a must. She will need an elevated bed to help with getting up, and everything she might need within easy reach. Of course, having someone there, to help with daily tasks and in case of emergencies, is also important, and reassuring if anything else. Does that sound feasible?'

It's my brain's turn to race. 'Absolutely. As soon as Mr and Mrs Webster are back, I'm on it.'

Dr Harrison clamps my shoulder. 'Good.'

When I get back to Tara, she scrutinises me too. But I'm on a high and, for some reason, sharing animatedly about last night's party comes out of my lips like it's all I've ever wanted to talk about. And she's smiling, and laughing. Christian-the-clown comes out much more easily when behind it all I've got the situation all worked out.


	14. Chapter 14 - Scheming

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Seeing Tara struggle with simple rehabilitation exercises might have shaken Christian a fair bit but, at long last, there is something that he might be able to do to help: find Tara somewhere to stay. It's time he took over and grabbed the controls._

Scheming

Laughter is wonderful, it breaks the barriers, the frustrations, the fears, if only for a short time. After my party retelling ends, Tara explains what the tube and toilet incident was all about. For that moment self-catheterisation -because things were not going back to normal as quickly as it should- is topic fit for a joke, and I have no problems sharing with her my dilemma and choosing Sir Joshua as my fashion model to keep me occupied. So easy, so light, till she drops it all down.

'So, the company, are you going to tell me what's that all about?'

The laughter that was making my eyes crinkle and my cheeks ache vanishes into a frown. 'Tara, do we have too?'

'Yes, Christian, no tiptoeing around anymore. I've got enough of everything being so slow, so hard, so cautious, just hit me with it. You're not going.'

'We talked about it yesterday. I've realised that it's not what I want to do.'

I suddenly become a target, and it's like Tara's eyes are throwing knives at me and trying to hit right between mine. 'So all that great discourse about thinking of the future and doing everything you could to get into The Company? In one day that resolve dropped to, what was it? Ninety? It has suddenly crashed to nothing?'

My chest aches, my stomach tightens, maybe I'm having a heart attack. I don't care about The Company but, that day, I had vouched for something else; a promise that I was sure I wanted to be with her. Is she wrapping these two as one? Is she too thinking about this, but like me doesn't dare mention it? How could we? We are so many miles away from that moment, from the swimming pool, from that kiss. My head collapses between my hands, digging my bony elbows into my thighs, but the pain is welcomed, no matter how little it matches the one in my heart. 'Something else more important has taken its place.'

'What? Oh, no! No, Christian. I've told you before, and you've told me in no uncertain terms either, I don't want to guilt you into anything, and I certainly can look after myself. Don't you DARE use me as an excuse!'

I wish I could tell her that she's wrong, and in so many ways, she is. I'm not here out of guilt. I'm not saying no to The Company because of her. No, but I do want to be the one looking after her, so badly. I shake my head. 'Tara, my mind was made up before this. When I did my stupid little thank you speech, it all became so clear to me. Your fall, yes, it played a part. It was like when Saskia fell and you realised that life has to be lived in the now. I realised that too. I want to dance, but not for The Company, not in the corps. I want to teach, Tara.' I take her hand in mine and come closer, letting her stare into my eyes, into my soul, into the truthfulness of what I am saying. 'I want to teach at the Memorial. I want to give back to others all the chances I've been given. And I'm going to be good at it, excellent even. You've said it yourself, it suits me. I've finally found my place, my path.'

Tara's eyes are roaming across my face, at first in puzzlement, then in something that might be awe, and then they filled with tears. What had I said wrong this time?

'But don't you get it? Dancing for The Company? That's yet another good thing that you're throwing away!'

Bam. I'm floored by the agony of my own words thrown back at me. I'm in such a state of shock that I can't even process what that means anymore, I can't even defend myself. I can't see myself but in my head all I picture is the many times that Tara had looked at me, mouth open, eyes haggard, speechless, because I'd once again told her whatever it was that hurt her most. That must be exactly what I must look like. And now I get why she didn't fight back, why she just stared at me as I walked away, stunned, just like I am.

And of course, that's when Jan and Neil decide to reappear: when I must look as vacant as a ghost and their daughter is sobbing.

'What- What happened? Tara, what's the matter?' Jan asks as she rushes to her daughter's bedside. Neil has already got his eyes on me.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' I say as I rush out.

But Neil is right behind me. 'What did you do?'

'I've hurt her, again!'

'Christian,' Tara calls out from within the room.

Something lands on my arm and I'm about to balk when Jan appears in front of me and squeezes my wrists gently. 'We know you didn't mean to.'

'Does that make any difference?'

'Of course it does,' she says in a placatory tone. Why she wants to keep me happy is beyond me, I've hurt her daughter time and time again.

I press my hands to my face, taking deep breaths in to stop my diaphragm from going into spasms and squeeze my eyes really tight. I've only ever cried when people have died, and Tara is not dying. Maybe my hopes are.

'Christian,' Tara calls again, alongside a myriad of scratch sounds.

'Don't let her get up on my account, please! Please, tell her that I'm sorry,' I say as I squeeze between them to my escape route. 'And that I'll come back later, if she'll let me.'

I run out of the hospital. I'm glad I've kept my bike there the previous day because now speed is of the essence. I ride as quickly as legally allowed all the way to the front of the Academy and rush up the stairs three by three.

I knock on Miss Raine's door. No answer. I push the door a little ajar. The desk is clear but for the telephone and computer screen. There's nothing left in the shelves. Maybe I'm too late.

I get out of the office with beads of sweat cooling down my brow that have nothing to do with the running around and all to do with the panic raising in my chest. I pass the staff room only to hear voices within. I knock.

Mrs Miller, the tiny school secretary, appears behind the door.

'I'm sorry, I really need to see Miss Raine, I really need to speak with her.'

Miss Raine pushes her way through and out. 'Christian, I'm in a board meeting.'

'I'm sorry, but I really need to talk to you, is there a better time today?'

Miss Raine scrunches up her eyebrows. If she were wearing glasses, she would be staring at me from over the frame. 'We were due to break off about half an hour ago but we still have a lot to cover. I shall let them know I have a meeting booked at half past twelve, that will be an excuse for a lunch break if anything else. Meet me in my office, well, my old office.'

Miss Raine does not even wait for my answer and closes the door again behind herself.

I've got half an hour... I run back to my bike. Lunch. I'll get her lunch.

When Miss Raine comes into her office, her eyebrows scrunching up at my daring for being already in there before her, sitting in one of the chairs. I push the paper bag towards the large office chair on the other side of the desk. 'Best burger in town.'

The eyebrows rearrange themselves into that weird lying down question mark shape they seem to assume each time she is surprised with something and not altogether sure what to make of the situation. But then she comes over to her chair, opens the bag, takes a whiff and smiles broadly. 'You know what, a burger is exactly what I need.' She takes it and the portion of chips out, and I continue with mine. It might have been impolite to start before her, but my bag is twice the size of hers, I'm that starving.

'So, Christian, what can I do for you?'

Before I can speak, the office door opens again, and in walks Zach. 'You said you needed me?'

Miss Raine points to another chair. 'Please take a seat, unless you'd like this one?' she indicates her own.

'Oh no no no! That'll come far too soon.'

Miss Raine looks at me with a crooked and cheeky smile. Maybe her stern facade had always been an act to keep us on our toes, literally, and underneath it all she is capable of being actually fun. 'I will not be in charge of the school for much longer so, until the board agrees on my replacement, Mr Andrews here will be taking over the role. I think you'll find him as happy to help you as I am.'

I look at Zach and I don't know what to make of this news. I owe so much to this man already, do I really want to add to my due list?

'So, what can we do for you?'

'Not for me this time.' _Well, not directly_ , I think to myself. 'But for Tara. I've talked to her doctors this morning. They agree that it would be better for Tara to stay somewhere nearby in Sydney for the early stages of her rehabilitation, maybe up to a month. Somewhere without stairs, with accessible showers, with help at hand...' I let them fill in the gap, fervently praying they would come to the same conclusion as I did.

Miss Raine lifts her hand to silence Zach. 'And?'

'And, the room I had in the first year was on the ground floor, where the lounge and kitchen are. There's showers there too, and it will be available for the summer break, probably already is.'

Miss Raine narrows her eyes a little. 'I see. As you know we do let some of our students use the facilities during the holidays, but Tara is no longer one of our students.'

'What? But, of course she is, I mean, if I can be considered as one, surely...'

'But I presume you mean that her parents would be staying there too, and that would be unprecedented.'

'Erm-' and I find I have nothing to say to that. It never crossed my mind.

'Surely you didn't think you would be Tara's carer? You have other things of your own to sort out, haven't you?'

I grind my teeth and keep my breathing in check so that it stops sounding like a raging bull. Here she is again, trying to make my choices for me.

'I will look into this,' she says in a stern voice. 'I cannot guarantee anything.'

Suddenly I'm sure she won't help. After all she'd said, she won't help Tara. And once again I find myself wishing I could swap all the undeserved goodness that falls upon me and bounce it off to someone who does deserve it. I'm about to plead and bargain when Miss Raine leans forward. 'Christian, I cannot guarantee anything, but I promise to do my very best.'

I stay glued to my chair, despite the fact that she's indicating the door with her hand.

Zach taps on my shoulder as he squeezes behind me. 'Come on, Christian.'

Miss Raine sighs. 'Christian, you have to leave if I'm going to sort this out.' The blacked out tunnel that had formed in my vision widens, letting in the fact that her hand is on the phone and that she's already dialling. I nod and get up.

Zach follows me out. 'I need to talk to you.'


	15. Chapter 15 - Meaning

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian was happily chatting and laughing till Tara mentioned The Company. Is she right? Is Christian really throwing away a good thing yet again? But priorities first: Find a place for Tara, and newly appointed Deputy Director Zach Andrews has some things to say._

Meaning

Zach wanting to talk never made me nervous, ever. He is a man I can face up to, a man I can trust. But he has newly held powers and right now I'm not so sure how to handle him, especially when he has this serious face on.

I shrug as casually as possible, say 'okay' and offer him some fries from the bag I am still holding. 'Actually, yes, thanks.' He takes a handful and sighs. ' My, I'm not going to do this Principal malarky for long if all it means is dull endless meetings! Come this way.' He leads me to one of the studios and pulls out two prop chairs. 'How are you?'

'Okay, busy.'

'So I gather, seeing you haven't come back to the memorial. Too busy with Tara?'

I nod.

'I went to see her this morning,' he says with forced casualness.

'You did?' This should have sounded friendly, but came out all angsty. Zach narrows his eyes, warning me to keep my temper in check. I hate the way I get so riled up but if he and Tara are ganging up on me too, I don't know how else I'm supposed to respond.

'And Rebecca came to talk to Miss Raine.'

And there it is, I'm being cornered.

Zach puts a placatory hand on my shoulder. 'I know it's not what you want to do right now, I get it, and I agree, dancing in a ballet company is not for everyone. You could completely do it, but that's beside the point if it's not what you want to do.'

My back softens a bit, so does the knot in my stomach. Maybe I've read him wrong, again.

'The thing is that you won't really know without having tried it. Ben, Grace or Tara may have told you about their experiences there, but The Company is run by someone else now, and Rebecca sees things from a very different angle from Sir Jeffrey.'

No, none of them told me about it. Back then I was being pals with Abigail, of all people, and she hadn't been taken in. Look where that got her: she's in and none of the others are. So could I, if I wanted to. Would Tara have got in if not for her fall? Would I be in there too with her, like she dreamed back then? Would I be on a high like Ollie and Abi are, just to crash down when I'd realise it was not for me?

Zach waits for me to make eye contact to speak again. 'What I'm saying is: do not give up without knowing more. I think Rebecca could be someone very interesting to work with. She doesn't play by the rule book, she is not afraid to ruffle feathers, to do things very differently.' Zach shuffles his seat to be right in front of me. 'Please Christian, go and see her. Find out what she's about and what she might have to offer. If it's still a no, no big deal. But I think she's got the potential to surprise you.'

'With all that's going on I can't think of dancing right now.'

'You're wrong, it's when things are tough that you should definitely dance.' Zach scoops the chair from underneath me, forcing me to my feet. He kicks off his shoes and walks to the sound system. Loud horns, hard drums, feverish violin. And Zach dances in bold shapes. I've got no idea what this is but my body is already taking over. It reaches for moves that are neither ballet nor pop but something in the middle, very contemporary. Not my usual style. Very Zach, however. We dance, we harmonise, we clash, till we start to synchronise and speak that same wordless language.

I let my body do the talking but I've got no idea what it is saying, all I know it that it's angry and strong, and deliberate. And I feel strong, resolute. When the track ends, we just stare at each other. 'When my brain goes on overdrive I put something powerful on and I escape like this. When I come back everything somehow becomes clearer.' Zach puts his shoes back on. 'Rebecca will be at The Company all day, probably in the practice studio. Go and find her. Give it a chance.'

I let Zach leave. I turn around the perimeter of the studio, one way, then the other, but I certainly do not see any clearer. So I put the track back on. I watch myself dance in the mirror. I'm not trying to look good, I'm not trying to master a trick, a leap, a spin, I'm just moving and watching as if I were these two separate entities: the performer and the audience. And I still don't have a clue.

I get out of the studio and dial. 'Hey Kat. Am I getting you in a middle of an audition again?'

Kat laughs. 'No, I'm on my way to see Tara. What can I do for you, dear Christian?'

'I want to know- Why have you given up?'

'What- on dancing?' She sounds so hesitant, as if there's something else she had given up on, till It dawns on me she'd given up on me once, and it had been completely deserved.

'Yes, dancing. You gave up, you came back, you gave up again... Why?'

There's a long silence, and I can see Kat rubbing her forehead in my mind.

'Do we really have to do this now? On the phone?'

'Sorry Kat, but yes, if you could, I'd appreciate it.'

Kat sighs. The whoosh of breath is quickly followed by the crash and jumbled sound of her bag being put down. 'There's a difference between being decent at something and actually wanting to be decent at that something.'

'Go on.'

'Christian, I was born in a dancing family. It's hardly surprising that I would get caught in it and grow to believe I should be into dancing too.'

'That was what happened last year, not this time. What changed?'

I hate the silence stretching between us, the pain I feel reverberating in my chest although hers is diluted to me via the airwaves, but I really need to know. It's like my sanity, my very reason for being is eluding me, has been all my life, and that now that I'm looking for it I need the answer here and now or I might just implode.

So I wait.

'During your Second year, when I was out in that terrible school, I missed it all so much. But what I missed most was my friends. When I came back it wasn't the same, of course it wasn't. I was frantically working to get better only to catch up, and I never did. Because no matter how much genetic potential I have, I don't have that ballet passion. When I forced it, it nearly possessed me. I'm not like Tara who breathes the stuff. I love doing shows, I love dancing hiphop and contemporary, but really I think acting is where I fit, where I find myself being me, at long last. And that might change again, but I will never ever again do Ballet. It was never me.'

'Thanks, Kat.'

'What? Oh no, you're not leaving me with just that! What's the matter? Why do you suddenly care what I did and why?'

'I'm trying to find out why I did?' It's meant to be a statement but it comes out as a question.

'Dance?'

'Join the Academy but not really wanting to be there, pull through it, pretending I don't care, leave only to come back, again and again. What should I do with it now? I mean, you're right, it's not because you're good at something that you have to do it, right?'

'Absolutely,' Kat says, but there is so much reserve in her tone.

'You don't sound like you mean that at all.'

'Actually I do but, Christian, the why, no one can know but you.'

I nod although she can't see it. 'Tara might need some cheering today, I kind of upset her this morning.'

'Again?'

'Same old. Look, tell her I'm thinking it over, okay.'

'I won't ask you what because she'll tell me. Take care, Christian. I'm might be new on my journey of self pondering, but I've got to warn you, it's not a nice ride.'

'Shall keep that in mind.'

I walk back into the Academy, past the studios, stopping by each one that is busy with Summer School students in search of answers. Miss Raine must have finished both her lunch and her meeting. she's now circling her innocent pupils. 'Straighter, Scout, lighter too.'

Just hearing that name makes me smile. I push the door. Miss Raine eyes me questioningly.

'May I join in for a little bit, I could do with drowning in the dreariness of regimented forms.'

A thin smile appears briefly at the corner of her lips, then she nods. The girls turn round to check the intrusion, Scouts winks at me with a beaming grin. I make myself stand at the back.

And indeed, my brain can busy itself as my body works through the monotonous repetitions. And it feels so good, like rote learning can be a comfort blanket.

Why do I dance? Why?

I am none the wiser by the end of the class, but my body feels good, regenerated, confident. If I cared to allow it I would be strutting out of class, I feel that much in control.

Miss Raine catches me at the door. 'There's some last things to sort out, but so far it looks good.'

'My dancing?' I ask to tease her.

'If you want me to judge you on your dancing, you'll have to come wearing something else than this,' she says flicking my t-shirt with a smile.

'And pull up my tights,' I joke back, hitching my jeans as high and uncomfortable as I can.

She laughs as she walks away. Look at us making friends, ha ha. But then she stops and has that stern set in her eyes. 'Mr Reed. I will be leaving for Austin tomorrow. I am confident that, with Mr Andrews, we will be able to sort things out for Tara. I am glad you thought of it and that you asked.'

She took the three steps that brought her back much closer to me. 'Christian, for my own sake and that of the dancing world I do hope you will continue to dance, professionally. But whether you do or not, I sincerely wish you the very best for the future. Being your teacher and headteacher has been at times extremely frustrating but also a great pleasure.'

She holds her hand out to me. I stare at it, my breath uneven, my throat tight, then I take it in a strong hold. 'The frustration and pleasure was also mine, Miss Raine,' I banter, but what's the use of covering up my emotions with humour; this is my last chance to get this right. 'I said it already, but I want to say it again: I cannot ever repay what you've done for me.'

'There never was any need for repayment, Christian. What we do here, it's a gift.' She let go of my hand. 'Of course we hope our students will make good use of it, but in the end it is up to them to do with what they have learnt here what they will, and we have to accept and respect that choice. I none-the-less dearly hope to see you dance on stage again, Mr Reed, but I won't hold against you if you do not.'

I nod. She smiles. 'Goodbye, Mr Reed, till we meet again.' She turns round and walks off as if this is just another end of class.

I check my watch. Two thirty. I rush back to the boarding house, and the emptiness of the other side of the room makes me want to dance with joy. Luke left me a note wishing me well, which is sweet. I scrunch it and lob it into the bin.

Fresh from my shower and change of clothes, I ride back to the hospital.

Tara's room is exactly the opposite of how I want to find it: full of people.


	16. Chapter 16 - I Know You

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Who am I? Why do I dance? Why does anyone?_

I Know You

Neil is doing the thousands steps again, although his range is widely decreased by the many knees sticking out of chairs. I give him five minutes before he is out. Jan is sitting at the edge of the bed by Tara's feet, with Kat beside her on one of the chairs whilst Ollie and Abi have the closest two.

My arrival is greeted by a chorus of 'Hey, Hi and good afternoon, Christian.'

I smile and hope my disappointment doesn't show as much on my face at it feels behind it.

'Okay, Webster. Abi and I'd better go back. Lunch breaks don't last long at The Company.' Ollie extends a hand towards me. I grab it and he pulls me into that weird shoulder bump he does sometimes, but oddly it's rather nice. 'Hey Reedo, don't become a stranger.'

Abi gives me that squinty smile she reserves for people she can look down on but whom she still likes. I send it right back to her.

'Jan,' Kat says as she stands up. 'Neil, shall we go and get some coffee or something?' Neil jumps at the offer. Jan watches me cautiously, goes to kiss Tara on the cheek and follows behind them, leaving me and Tara alone.

I should feel relieved, but instead the sudden departures are putting a lot of pressure on my shoulders.

'Hey.'

Tara wriggles a bit in her bed. 'Hey, I'm Tara Webster,' she says, just like when she had her scan for her back, to give us a clean slate.

'Christian Reed,' I tell her, extending my hand for a shake.

She takes it. 'What shall I go for now? ''Do you come here often?'' or ''So, what do you do?'''

'Let's do both: I only come here to see my friend Tara. And, I'm a dancer, supposedly.'

'Oh, so am I! Look, I can still move my arms, it's going to be a completely new art form.'

How I wish I could laugh, but none of us finds this funny. Tara forces her face back into its mock joyful grin. 'How about you, how can you be ''supposedly'' a dancer?'

I drag the chair closer to her bed and take a seat. 'Tara, these last few days people keep telling me what my dancing means to them. But I have no clue what it means to me.'

Tara's eyes have gone all wide. I guess I deserve her shocked surprise, I never have been this bluntly open with Tara. It's long overdue.

'I hate when people do that,' I rattle on. 'But I so can do it for others. Ollie, he dances to preen, to get the fame, for others to admire him and tell him so. Abigail, she dances to be the best. She doesn't even care if she is recognised as such, she simply wants to be the best. Ben dances for the fun, because he has a ball doing it, that's all that matters to him, and to be fair, I really envy him that. Miss Raine, I would bet my last dollar it's the military-like structure. Saskia, I don't know her all that much, but I would bet it was power.' I look at Tara, at the rigid way her body is laid on the bed. I'm certain I shouldn't ask this of her, but I do it anyways. 'How about you, Tara? Why do you dance?'

'Danced, you mean.'

I shake my head. 'I am no doctor. I have no way to look into the future. I hate trite comments and platitudes, but Tara, I feel it in my very bones, if you want to dance again, I am positively certain you will.'

Tears pearl at the corner of Tara's eyes. I must be the one person visiting her who can claim to have made her cry every time. Maybe this is a hospital-wide record.

'I wish I could be so confident.' Tara sighs and blinks the tears away. 'As for why, you know it, I wanted to fly.'

'No Tara, that's not it.'

'Oh really, so what is it then? Why have I put myself through the pain of three years at the Academy for, huh?'

I gather my wits and courage. It's like I am about to jump from one cliff to another with no guarantee what-so-ever that I might reach the other ledge safely. But then I look into Tara's eyes and I feel secure. I should know better, of course. Those eyes have sent me as many daggers as they have send me love and care. I don't mind, I'll take what she'll give.

'Tara, when you dance, flying is only a part of it. It's like children who wish they could dive into their favourite story book and become one of the characters. You dance Persephone: you are in ancient Greece, beautiful and potent, goddess of the underworld for winter, the bringer of renewal in the spring. You dance Firebird: you are that scared and yet powerful mystical creature, we all want you to chose us to give a feather to. The nutcracker: you are that amazed little girl discovering all the wonders of a magical Christmas tale. You dance to become someone else, to feel everything that they feel for the length of a dance, or a show, and you take the audience with you. You dance to transform.'

Tara blinks, her mouth gapping open. Then her eyebrows scrunch up and I'm readying myself for more tears. But when she looks at me, Tara seems to be pleading with me. 'I'm so sorry.'

I rack my brain to link what I have said with her answer and fall short.

'I once said that Ethan got the dancing side of me, insinuating that you didn't. How wrong was I? You get it more than I even do.'

A huge sigh escapes from me although I wasn't even aware I'd been holding my breath.

'Wow.' Tara puts both her hands on each of her temples.

'I don't know about wow, Tara. I'm glad I do get your dancing side, and to be honest, back in first year I completely didn't, so you were right. Not that Ethan did either, but he had more clue as to how important it was to you than I did, that's for sure. I'm so glad I can now, but why can I see it so clearly in others and not in myself?'

Tara winced. 'Christian, can you help me shuffle up, please?'

I stand immediately. 'Erm, yes of course, but how?'

'Just stand behind me and pull me up a bit, just to help.'

I place my hands under her arms and count to three, at which I pull gently and she shifts a few centimetres up.

'Thank you, that's better.'

I go back to sit and wait. Maybe she was just delaying. Maybe she was hoping I would forget or stop asking. Maybe she has no clue, and why should she? Maybe my dancing means nothing to her at all.

'I think you know about other people's motivation because, despite maybe not wanting to, you actually got to know these people, you managed to get to the core of what makes them tick.'

I chew on this for a little while. 'Then it should be easy peasy for me to know about myself, no?'

'You got to be joking, Christian. You've just made me realise more about my own dancing than I have ever thought myself. I knew it was more than flying in second year.' She looks at me intently. 'But Christian, you are so right. I do dance to be someone else. And it's not that I don't like who I am. Call me vain but I think I'm pretty darn good. But it's fantastic to be someone else for a while, to be in their shoes, figuratively. You got me better than I got myself.' She puts her hand out for me to hold. 'I cannot tell you how amazing it is that you've told me this. I can't quite get my head round how important this is going to be for me.'

I nod. I should feel proud, but my chest is still heavy and slack. I am coming no closer to know about my reason.

'Christian, maybe you won't know about your dancing until you get to know who you really are.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'What you said tells me something about myself I didn't quite got to understand before. I'm a girl who likes to dream, who builds her life on these dreams, who wants the romance from the books, the predictable outcome from the movies, who lives her life through these fantasies. I've had glimpses of that before. What you have said clarified all this into one idea: I am a dreamer. I dance to make the dreams real.' Tara looks at me and a sudden shadow crosses her eyes. 'You're looking sad.'

'I am feeling sad.'

'Why?'

'I don't know, maybe I was hoping you might have the answer.'

'The answer to why you dance?'

'Yes.'

'Why me?'

'Because - I don't know, I thought you would know.'

'Christian, despite all that we have gone through, there is so little I know about you.'

I shrug. 'You know all there is to know.'

'No, I don't'

'Go on then, what do you not know?'

Tara hesitates, I can tell by the way her eyes are roaming all over the place that she is pondering whether to come up with the goods or not.

'Tara, a while back, under a completely different situation, we gave each other conditions: that you would not try to fix me and that I would not retreat. Then we ruined it all by putting embargos, which goes completely against the whole retreat things. I will not retreat any more, Tara. If there is something you want to know about me, past, present or future, I will tell you, as openly as I possibly can.'

Tara gulped, it made a weirdly loud sound in her throat.

'So come on, ask me.'

Tara fidgets with her fingers for a few seconds, throwing me snide glances. 'Your bother.'

'My brother Andrew, Drew for short, yes?'

'You asked me if he would help you if you were in a tight spot. I told you I wished I could say he would but that it sounded by the way you'd asked that question that he wouldn't, then you went all crazy shouting at me that of course he would.'

'That's not a question.'

Tara just stares at me.

'Do you want the short or the long answer?'

Tara slaps her hands to her bed. 'Christian, when do I not want the long one?'

I laugh a little. 'My brother is four years older than me. He went through a rough patch, like we all do in the Houso, and got in a fair bit of trouble. Didn't stop him for giving me hassle when I did too. But when he turned eighteen, he fell in love with a good girl. He moved out into the middle of Australia with her, took a job in the mines and worked his way into normal life, got married, got kids.' I check Tara's expression. She is riveted to my words like I'm a story teller. But the storyline is not going to end there with an happy-ever-after. 'Early in our first semester, when I was still trying to find a decent reason to stay at the Academy, I got into a bit of trouble with the police. I was going to be sent into juvenile detention if an adult couldn't vouch for me. I called my brother a few times and he never picked up. So I called Mr Kennedy. He got me out and back into the Academy, but I kind of threw his charity back in his face when I told him I had tickets for Broken Hill. He refused to let me go without having talked to my brother.'

I take a deep breath, anger nibbling at me from the inside. Anger and disgust. But I promised to tell her everything, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how badly it reflects on me. If I want her to take me for who I am, she has to know all of this.

'As it was not my mobile nor a reverse charge call, he picked up. Despite all my promises that I would be fine, that I would be great with his kids, he still rejected me. Can you imagine it? I was pleading with him right in front of Mr Kennedy and he said ''no, sorry''. Sorry? Yeah, right!' I slam my fist into the side of the mattress.

'The twenty questions exercise came only days after that. I'm sorry I was less than helpful that day. I could claim now that it was because of that phone call, but to be honest I was in a pretty messed up place anyway.'

I can't make myself look at her, I don't want to see pity in her eyes.

'And why do you behave like I'm going to judge you through how your brother treated you?' Tara looks pained, no pity there, just disgruntlement. 'I wouldn't have done so back then and I still don't.'

There is no denying the truthfulness of her words, it is written in every one of her features. I couldn't have known then how open minded she could be, I had known no one like Tara. I should know better by now.

'Why does Kaylah and Aaron call you Cheds?'

'You're pushing your luck, Tara Webster,' I banter to release some of the tension.

But Tara's eyes are boring holes into mine. 'No, I'm testing you.'

 **For some reason Fanfiction no longer lets me know how many people read this story, which is not essential of course but does help with motivation. So if you do read this and enjoy it, it would be great if you could tell me so, either via messages or reviews. ;-)**


	17. Chapter 17 - And I Know You Too

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian can tell why everyone else dance. He even knows better than Tara why she does: to live in dreams. But how could she know and understand him if he doesn't open up?_

And I Know You Too

Out of all the things she wants to know about me, it's with my nickname she's testing my professed openness. It's the last vestige of mystery and aloofness I have retained from first year. But I want to pass that test, with flying colours.

'When I was eight I would refuse to eat anything that didn't have cheddar cheese in it. My mum had to grate it on everything for at least six months. My friends started calling me Cheds from then on. Nothing more than that.'

Tara laughs.

I smile. This one was easy. Talking about my brother less so. I would have thought that sharing about that would make me feel crap, but I feel just like a laugh: light, released even. 'Okay, what next?'

Tara glances at me but says nothing.

'That's it, your curiosity has run dried, I am that uninteresting?'

A small shake of her head. She is not looking at me anymore.

'Tara, the ''no retreating'' applies to you too, not that I ever thought I would get to say that.'

'I've grown to know when to hold back.'

That thought catches in my throat. 'Maybe you should revert to being you and we all learn to be more upfront.'

That earns me a small grateful smile that warms my chest like hot chocolate.

'Maybe something in between, then.'

'Or not. You have something else you want to know about and you're not asking. Why?'

'It might- it might be too rough. But it's the only thing I can think about right now.'

I steel myself. 'Go on.'

'Your mum.'

'My mum.' I run my hands through my hair and leave them to rest at the back of my head. 'Fair enough, my mum.'

I scuttle a little more forward, cross my arms on the mattress and rest my face in the crook of my elbow. 'Can you hear me okay?'

'Yes.' Her voice comes out as a murmur, in the wisp of air that I imagine priest speak like when in the confessionary.

And I tell her everything. How I could not remember my dad at all but through photos. How my mum struggled to work and look after two boisterous boys in the roughest parts of Sydney. How she tried her best to keep us straight and how we disappointed her times and again.

How I loved her so much that it still hurt when I see mothers with their kids. How I still manage to look like her despite getting the most obvious genetic heritage from my father. How I am so like her in character, despite how tough I might pretend to be. How hard it was to care for her when she was sick and my brother had already left us. How I got into so much trouble to get my hands on some cash. How I wish I could claim it was solely to pay for her meds but the truth was far more selfish than that.

How it was to see my brother, the first and last time in years, at her funeral, one that I had to arrange pretty much by myself when I was only fifteen. I tell her everything.

It all comes out in a jumble as memories jump in my head out of chronology, but she just listens, only asking questions to clarify something. Now that the flood gates are opened, I am so scared I'm going to be empty, hollowed out. But when I have nothing else to say, it's like a wound that had been festering is at long last cleaned up. Not healed, far from it, but maybe now ready to start that process.

'Thank you, for telling me all this.'

'Does that really help you know me better at all?'

'Yes, I think so. Not so much because of what happened in the past as such, but definitely through how you talk about it now. That's who you are.'

'But not why I dance.'

'I don't know... It feels to me that you dance so that you can feel in control.'

I stare at her as if she is my mirror. She chases after dreams, I want to grab hold of something I can, at long last, control? Is that the key to who I am? What does that say about me?

Her eyes squint as she observes me. 'So?'

'I don't know- I guess it's more that I'm not sure I want it to be the reason, but sadly it does make sense.' I think back of how often I have run away when others tried to lead my life for me. Of, how strong and focused I've been whenever things seemed to be under my power to engender. The confidence that I could sort things out for Tara had made me so much bolder.

'Tara, have your parents talked to your doctor today, like he asked?'

'What's that got to do-'

'Did they?'

'No, he has been in surgery.'

I want to rush out and tell them my plan, but then I look at Tara. She is glancing at me as if I've suddenly gone all weird, which I suppose is true from her perspective. I can't believe I was about to do the very thing I would hate for someone else to do to me, and she would hate it just as much.

In my drive to get things done I had got up so I sit right back down. 'Tara, I have been thinking about your hospital release.'

'Hmm hmm.'

'When I heard your doctor talk about it, I was shocked. They know better than me, but I couldn't even think of you being out of hospital yet.'

'That's crazy, Christian, I want to get out, as soon as possible.'

'I get that, but the thought of you at home out in the sticks, well, that got me really worried.'

'Christian, that's where I did all my recovery last time.'

Not a welcomed memory.

'Tara, I've got to be straight with you, and I know you might be upset that I went behind your back. I think you're right about control. I suddenly thought there was something I could do to help you, and it's only now I realise I shouldn't have done any of that without asking your opinion first. I'm sorry. I guess I wanted to check what was actually possible first. If it is you will be the one to choose. At least you will have a choice.'

Tara's eyes get narrower and narrower as I spoke till they are as thin a slits. 'What have you done?'

'I asked Miss Raine whether you, and your parents, could stay at the boarding house till your back might cope better with the car journey.'

'You did what?'

But before I can even answer her laughter stops me.

'Oh my goodness, really? That- that would be amazing!'

'Really?'

'Yes. I love my home, I really do, but being so far away from the hospital here, just in case, well I have to tell you that was playing a fair bit on my mind.'

'Miss Raine is looking into it, it's not hundred per cent sure yet. Actually, I might go and check with her now. Did you know she was leaving tomorrow?'

Tara nods.

'Okay, I'll go then.' I stop a few steps away from her bed. 'Oh, and Tara? I'm going to go and see Rebecca too. Zach says there might be other options for me there. I think he is right, I might as well find out what that might be before saying a flat out no.'

Tara gives me a telling off stare, but then her lips stretch into a warm smile.

'It doesn't mean anything. I doubt very much The Company will fit my need for power and control,' I say with a snigger, but then I stare at her, my feet unable to move further.

'What now?' she asks.

'Tara, when you fell, and then when I first came and you fell asleep because of your medicine.' I'm not going to remind her it was because I'd made her pain worst. 'Both times, I kissed your forehead.'

Tara's eyes become wide, darting this way and that as if I'd just owned up to something super embarrassing.

'I just- I don't know, would it be okay if I did that again?'

'Kiss my forehead?'

'Yeah, I mean, no big deal, it's okay if you don't- I just-'

'Okay.'

'Okay.' I lean gently over her and close my eyes as my lips touch her skin. 'It's not creepy, right? Just caring.'

'It's nice, Christian. I'm glad you're fighting my corner.'

I laugh as I leave. 'Round two, ding ding.'


	18. Chapter 18 - Facing The Mermaid

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: So control is what Christian seeks, when he dances and in life. Well know that he knows he might as well hit the ground running. And yet, so much is still in other's hands._

Facing the Mermaid

As Zach suggested, I find Rebecca in the rehearsal room at the company. It's amazing how I can just walk in there as if I belong to the place, and that random people just don't turn up to watch. Half the dancers are leaning at the back, observing the other half go through their pas-de-deux routines. The only sounds are the pointe shoes hitting the ground, but the music that would accompany this would have to be modern; there is nothing fluffy and classical about the way the dancers move.

Abi loses a beat as she stares at me. Ollie gets her back in time.

I remain by the door. Rebecca cannot see me where she stands and somehow the shiver tightening my spine got me convinced she knows I am right behind her.

'Getting there,' Rebecca says at the end of the piece, 'the connection and timing are improving, but there is too much stiffness. The shapes are bold, but the moves have to be smooth.' She turns towards the door beside me. 'Again,' she says in a sharp voice as she exits.

I follow her out keeping my steps small. She's wearing one of those tight long skirt. I have no idea how anyone can walk in these. She goes to sit primly on one of the benches at the end of the peer, her feet crossed and tucked under.

'Do take a seat.'

I'd rather not, but neither do I want to tower over her like an unsteady Pisa. So I sit as far away on the bench, turning enough to face her rather than stay side by side.

'I have not received your contract back. You have a week to do so, but I have a feeling you are not planning to. It is generally polite to decline an offer rather than leave people waiting.' She says this without even looking at me but at the other side of the harbour, the gentle wind lifting her bangs up in waves, as if she's just perched there to enjoy the sea air.

'I wanted to let you know sooner but some meddling people keep on telling me to give you a chance.'

'And why wouldn't you?' she asks in a bland tone as if that was the most boring question she could muster.

'Because I can't be stuck in the corps.'

'Not enough patience or too much vanity?'

'Erm-'

I don't get a chance to answer, Rebecca's raised-up hand silences me. The fabric of her blouse shimmers in the sun and it's like she is not quite human anymore, but a mystical kind of taunting sea creature.

'That was rhetorical. So why are you here?'

'Because-' _Because I want to be proven right, that there is nothing you can entice me with_ runs in my mind, but I have enough politeness ingrained in me not to verbalise it. 'It would seem there might be other options for me.'

'Options to side step all the normal patterns? To get ahead of everyone else who have been waiting for the opportunity, and working really hard indeed, when you haven't?'

Her hand goes up again.

'That wasn't a question either. The thing is, Mr Reed,' she turns her body at an angle too. She is finally looking at me. There is an intensity in her blue eyes that freezes me. 'I do not care for such things. I do not believe in dues. The best dancers will get the best solos. End of story. Loyalty? Time served? Favouritism? No such things with me. I do not deal with oversized egos. I want the best dancer for the right role, where ever that dancer might come from, but on my own terms.'

I stare and try to make sense of what she has just said. This goes against everything I have ever heard about dance companies.

'I will not offer you a full contract anymore, Mr Reed. Consider the one I gave you last week to be null. I will however offer you an open contract. You can imagine our lawyers are ruffled by the very thought, and so they should be. This contract will say, in the nonsensical wordings they like to bore us with, that I will be free to offer a part to you as I see fit, and that you will be in your right to accept or refuse it.

'Once accepted, the contract will bind you for the agreed duration for that particular piece. You would have to come to every rehearsals and training. At other times, you will be free to do as you please. You would therefore only get payment from us as and when you do work for us. You will, of course, not benefit from the housing we offer our other employees and will receive no other moneys in compensation.' She raises her eyebrow at me. ' I believe that is only fair.'

'I- erm-'

'You are warned that my way of doing things disgruntles many. Life as a dancer isn't fair, it has never been and never will be. It never is, especially not in Arts or sports and we are both of these. I am at peace with that. You might find that more difficult.'

There is a tight little smile at the corner of her mouth that riles me up no end.

'What, to deal with the continuous back stabbing that's going to make all your dancers fight dirty against each other?'

'You will find that most dancers there will be happy to have a fair share of the limelight, as it should. A transient new comer will be harder to digest. You will have to prove your worth. Is that beneath you?'

I want to say no, and I want to say yes. What do I know? I don't care about people, about what they think about me. I can deal with tough and deal it right back. I can, but I don't want to. All through the academy I was left alone to get on. Till Ollie got jealous. Till Ben felt threaten. And I hate to admit it, but they completely got to me. Proving my worth? That's the last thing I know how to do.

Rebecca's eyes are sharp on me, scrutinising my every move. 'The thing is you won't know how you cope till you try, and that might be sooner than you think.'

'Hum?' I want to bang my head against the bench. I came out here ready to listen and to say, well, no thank you, that's not for me, but here I am, being told that I would dance solos, that I have the freedom to take it or leave it, and that just sounds too wonderful for words. But she is saying all this to me in with so much sarcasm that I just want to throw it all back in her face, and yet with enough enticement that I would be a fool to walk away. And there I sit, mute.

'How do you plan to train when not in employ?'

Train? That hasn't even crossed my mind, not in days, not since before Tara's life was thrown into a pit. 'Well, I will teach at the memorial, so I will train there.' And the shrug is back.

'I am not amused, Mr Reed, I do mean proper adequate training. And I mean under my very eyes. One thing I have in common with any other company director is that I like to know my dancers. As part of the contract you will have to find at least two hours daily, six days a week, to train with us. Twelve hours. That will feel like a holiday after the Academy. If your dancing abilities diminish that new contract might as well not exist.'

My breathing has become shallow again. There she is, putting demands. It was all too good to be true.

'We will be touring In February for two months. The Academy might welcome you again for that short time. I am sure Mr Andrews, if he is still in power by that time, will concur.'

Back at the Academy? Where? With the cohort that made Kat's life hell? I don't think so.

The tight little smile disappears before I can decide what it meant. 'Our April programme is very exciting. Wes is writing a new story for us, based on a little known Scandinavian tale. That is when I'm going to want you with us. The perfect dancer for the perfect role.'

Her voice has taken a weird kind of musical quality, something between a purr and a the crashing of waves. But I am not being taken on a ride this easily. Here's another one who thinks she knows me. Let's see what she's got in her deluded store.

'And that would be?' I ask with fake interest.

'A two faced character, at times jovial and kind, at others despondent and cruel.'

That gets me right in the stomach. This is how she sees me? 'Charming.' That's it. I'm out of this. I hitch my rucksack back on my shoulder.

She pouts. 'It's perfect for you.'

I stand up. 'And that's supposed to mean what? That I am two faced?'

'You're short tempered for sure. I have told you, Christian, I do not do well with egos.'

I snort. 'And yet you've hired Abigail and Ollie.'

'Their egos are huge, but they are not easily wounded. Please sit.' The words are polite enough but the tone turns them into a demand. And she's got a point.

'We discussed you being a man of extremes. I saw you dance Mercurio, very bold, very strong, great pathos, very unlike your Prince Charming. I was told your original role was the nurse?'

'And?'

'And also that you got promoted to Romeo, and that you were outstanding.'

I gulp. How could I not be? The girl I loved, still love, was slipping through my fingers. I was Romeo, maybe even more desperate, but just as stupid.

Her eyes become so small as she fingers the shell pendant dangling at her neck. 'I wish I had seen that.'

I cross my arms tight against my chest. 'Ben did a great job.'

Her hand waves my comment away. 'His last scene was excellent, the rest was tepid. Lying about it doesn't change the fact and doesn't serve you well.'

And she is right, and I hate her for it, and myself for stooping so low. Sometimes loyalty is just dumb.

'This role requires the acting range you have, that careful balance between contemporary and classical ballet. It will fit your appreciation of theatrical moves too, I guarantee you that much. It will fit you perfectly, if you let it.' Rebecca rises and tilts her chin up. Her gaze pierces through mine. 'This is what I have to offer. I will be sending the contract to Mr Andrews, he will let you know when it is ready and help you through it.'

'I can read my own contract.'

'With the gobbledegook the lawyers are going to write it in, I doubt it. The contract will last a week from being sent. I am not a patient woman, Mr Reed. If you intend on signing it, or are at least considering it, I would turn up to training practices as soon as possible.' She glides back off to her dancers without a single glance back at me.


	19. Chapter 19 - Moving: Up and Down

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Rebecca was full of surprises indeed: an ad hoc job? What would suit him better?_

Moving: up and down

I might have been the first one to stand up, but now that Rebecca has left, I am back on the bench, completely witless. I don't know what to think, so I let my thoughts drift with the waves below me. Then my phone rings.

'Hey Christian, look I'm sorry.' Fellow lifeguard Alice doesn't sound sorry at all, just bothered. 'Something's just come up and I can't cover your shift tomorrow anymore. Maybe you could try Chase?'

'No, I owe him nearly as many shifts as I owe you.' I sigh and rub my forehead. 'Don't worry, I can take it. Things are settling themselves. I'll do it.'

'Oh that's great,' her tone brightens up, 'so your friend's better then?'

'Something like that. See you around.' I hang up, get up, and head home.

'Christian!'

I sigh. I want peace, and quiet, and my bed, preferably with Tara's top under my nose, and some kind of oblivion. But I can't pretend not to have heard.

Zach comes down the Academy's stairs, his arms loaded with files. I trudge to wait for him by the last step.

'Here, take this.' He unloads the tottering pile into my hands. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out two sets of keys. 'For you.'

One large silver key and one small copper one on each rings. The smallest key on one set has a dent. A dent I made when I scraped it with my bike stand. My keys, for my old room.

He beams at me and reaches and pulls out one of the folders wedged into the pile, nearly toppling it over. 'Here's the paperwork they need to fill in.' The smile disappeared. 'I'm afraid it can only be Tara and her mum. I couldn't stretch things further.'

A little laugh escapes from me. I suddenly got springs under my feet. All I want to do is bounce around like a joey. Maybe it's a good thing I'm all laden up. 'That's great, Zach, that's so great.' I shake my head. I'm like a yoyo today, up and down. 'Don't worry about her dad, I think you are doing him a favour. He wouldn't say so out loud, but I think he wants nothing more but return to the farm.'

Zach laughs with me. 'He does give me that impression. So there, they can have the room, like you, till the last week of January. Mrs Woodlock will need the keys by the 24th so she can get things ready for the new students, alright?'

'More than alright.' And yet, that reminder tightens my throat. Work, a place to stay: real life is crashing back down on me.

I give him back his pile as he passes me keys and folders. He is weighed down again and in some way, so am I.

'Christian, where how come that you're down here?' he asks before I have a chance to move away.

I shrug. 'Oh, nothing really, just popped in to see Rebecca.'

His eyes pop wide open. 'You did? And?'

I smirk at him as I turn away. 'You were right, she does have the capacity to surprise me.'

Whirring

I get to Tara's room in what feels like seconds. She's twirling her fork in a plate of some very unappetizing goo. Jan and Neil are looking at it with equally disgusted faces. When they see me, they all smile. It's such a flip change that it's like I'm the prodigal son all over again.

'Christian,' Jan says, 'Tara talked to us about your plans. Is this true? Might it be possible?'

'To stay at the Boarding House?' I ask for effect as I dangle the keys out. 'Yes.'

Tara's jaw drops, Jan gaps, Neil purses his lips in recognition of a job well done. Before I know it, Jan got me caught in a tight hug.

'But,' I say with the little air left in me, at which she pulls away with a concerned expression. 'It can be only you and Tara, Jan.'

'Oh.'

'Ah well...' Neil grumbles, but he comes over and holds both me and his wife in an even tighter hold. 'I guess I ought to go back to the farm anyway.'

Tara is beaming at me, so wide, so fully, that for a few seconds I seem to only be aware of her smile and the loud banging my heart is beating in my chest, like the only way is up.

'Neil, let's see if we can share the news with Dr Harrison. Oh my goodness, thank you, Christian, thank you so much.' Neil tips his head at me, a finger near his forehead as if he is flicking an imaginary hat.

I wait till they are both gone, then I take my seat next to Tara. She's so happy, she even forgets to ask me about Rebecca. What she asks is for her note pad. And she makes lists. She's got a new project to micro manage, she is full steam ahead.

I love to see that crazed smile on her face, hearing the cogs whirring in her brain, and yet my spirits are plummeting. I shouldn't be so petty but I don't want her to do a thing, I want to be the one doing it all. And tomorrow, I will have to spend the whole afternoon by the poolside. One morning, one morning is all I've got to get it all sorted out, and I have no idea where to start. Where the heck am I supposed to get a raised bed?

Some things just don't want to budge

I wake on high alert. It doesn't matter that I've got more than an hour before my alarm is due to ring, I'm up.

In the end, I didn't have to find her a bed. The hospital is going to lend her one. I should be relieved, but in truth I'm pissed off.

I run through the list of things still to do and try to motivate myself and see the positive. For one, holiday time at the Boarding House means there is no rush for the showers anymore. And yet, one is already running when I get there, a long white towel hanging beside it. I have no idea who it could be. As far as I know I am the only one staying for the holidays.

I take longer than I planned. No matter how much I want to get done, I find myself acting in slow motion, even putting socks on seems to take me ages, like my brain is holding me back.

By the time I stand in front of my old room, I'm on freeze frame mode. My heart beats like it's preparing to run. Away from this room. But I have to get in. That's the whole point.

I take some forced breaths and get the keys out of my pocket. I can't even decide which to use. I want Tara to be the one using mine but just thinking of Sammy's keys makes my insides twist as if they're being wrung out and spun in a wrenching downward spiral.

I jam the keys back in my pocket, jiggle them a bit, grab one at random and just thrust it in the lock without looking.

Nothing much has changed. The wave is still on the wall and the beds have stayed side by side, not at an angle like in first year. But the smell is all wrong, the desks and cupboards have swapped places. And they will have to be moved again. And I'm glad for it. Now that the task is in front of me, I stop wallowing. I wind myself back up and start to think logically again.

I scan the room. and recall the instructions the doctor gave us the night before. Tara always seems to have the bed on the right side and it would be perfect here as it's also where the sink is.

I move one desk, shift the far bed completely against the wall, then drag the other against it. I relocate the desks and the chest of drawers. Then I push my weight against the cupboard. It doesn't budge, at all.

I try again, but my shoulder screams at me to stop. I try pushing with my back. No luck. In frustration, I kick it. The doors fling open, baring out the emptiness within. Hollow, like me. I slide down against it.

I should be waiting for Neil, but I'm so fed up with getting help. Why the heck can't I do something right just by myself, for once? Am I such a weakling that I'll always need someone to sort things out for me? I muster all my strength, wedge my other shoulder against the side and push with all my might. The cupboard remains unmoved.

'You alright?' a voice calls from the corridor. A young guy stands there, looking all worried and unsure. His eyes and hair are as dark as mine, his skin just a tad paler.

'Yeah, I'm just trying to move this.' I give the cupboard another spiteful kick.

A sudden recognition lights up his face. 'Oh, you Christian Reed, Third year. I saw you dance.'

'Yeah, that's me.' I stare at the guy and get no recall what-so-ever.

'I exchange student from Japan. Want help?'

I measure him up. He is tall but so skinny I don't think his help will be worth much, but then he is already in.

'Where?'

I point at the corner with my chin.

'Okay. Here first.' He squats low and holds the sides of the cupboard, one hand high, one low. And it shifts. Not by much but still. 'Now other.' He points at my side. I copy his asymmetrical hold and shift it a few centimetres too. Small steps, but effective.

Together, we waddle the cupboard into its new position away from the door.

I didn't want help, and yet in came in the form of skinny teen who managed to do what I couldn't. Not great for the ego. I mop the sweat off my brow with my sleeve. 'Thanks.' It comes out all grumbly and not very thankful.

'You welcome. I Masuyo,' he says with a small bow of the head.

'How come you're already here?'

His gaze drops down to the floor and his shy smile disappears. 'Summer school, good practice.'

'I see.'

'See you around.' The shy smile flashes on his face. He bows a bit again then closes the door behind him.

I check my watch. I still got two hours before the hospital will deliver the specially raised bed.

The room looked clean when I got in, but moving furniture shows up all the mess hidden behind, so I clean, and it feels so good that I even carry on in my own room.

I grab my laundry basket, then spot a corner of beige cloth winking at me from under my pillow. There's nobody in here with me but I still look over my shoulder as I retrieve Tara's top and bury it under my pile of clothes. I take one last whiff before I shove it in the machine. Soon I'll have the real thing to smell. Not with me in my bed though. I nearly cancel the wash, but force myself to move away.

Instead I check the fridge. Nearly empty. So I go shopping. Look at me, I'm all domesticated, but at least that I can do all by myself.

I come back with nothing more to do but to check once again that the grabber thingy I ordered is still going to be delivered the following day. So I wait till the bed arrives, Jan and Neil right behind it.

With the two delivery men and me, it's a right little crowd to move one metal framed single bed. The moment it's all done, I feel like the spare part. I go back to my room, find an envelope, write TARA in bold letters, then slide my keys in. I pack my stuff, hand Sammy's key to Jan and head out.

I'm actually thankful to have to go to work now. It's going to be busy at the pool on such a hot day. I won't have a second to spare and that's great. My head isn't a nice place to be in right now, it's far too full with feeling sorry for myself.

But I still have a little more than one hour before my shift starts.

I have no clue what they do at The Company at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday two weeks before Christmas, but I'm about to find out.


	20. Chapter 20 - Under Pressure

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian's plan came to fruition. He got the keys for Tara and her mum to stay at the Boarding House, he even got to enjoy Tara's beaming smile as he shared the news but real life caught up with him, and it's all hard work and toil._

Under Pressure

There's music. They're in.

I sneak through the back to the changing room. I have no clue as to what I'm supposed to wear so I just packed the same gear I wore for the audition that got me back into third year, minus the knee pads, although they're in my bag, just in case.

I hover outside the rehearsal studio. How is one supposed to behave in situations like this? Certainly not like Ben, with a grand in-your-face entrance. But what about me? How should I come in? Can I muster confident yet retiring? Probably not. The only thing I can do is to try to curb my natural instinct to go with my usual I'm-way- above-all-this cockiness; it gained me no friends in first year.

I take a deep breath and step in.

Abigail is once again the one to clock me. She scans me from head to toe, eyebrows scrunching up as she takes in my dance gear, and then she strikes the pause: hand on hip, down pout, deep frown; she is not pleased. The rest of the dancers stare at each other.

Rebecca switches the music off and indicates to the right with her chin. 'At the back there. Warm up if you're not already.'

The staring increases. Somehow I am aware that Ollie is in there too but I just can't face seeing him. He was right back then, I keep on getting favours I do not deserve. He would be right to think so now too. Not that he knows I'm here on special conditions, yet again.

I walk as confidently as I can to the far corner but fail to ignore the hushed whispers.

'Christian Reed will be training with us from time to time,' Rebecca says in a commanding voice. 'Back to the beginning.' And the music starts again.

I grab the barre, pretend the many eyes behind me are not burning my back and try not to let it affect me. Instead I move to spread warmth from within. When all the noises in the room are those of instruments and feet in the floor, I turn around. Classical shapes. That I can join in without ruffling more feathery sensitivities.

I find my place at the back, not completely out of the Company, not completely in. I am well used to the weight of the looks and disgruntled huffs. Sadly it feels just right.

What I can't feel are my legs, and the muscles in my back shout threats at me that they will hurt like crazy come tomorrow, but then what else might I expect? I have been eating crap and had next to no sleep for the last three days. And this is The Company. Miss Raine was tough, but she is a kitten compared to the French guy taking us through our paces.

Abi smirked at me more than once. 'Don't let Mr Xavier's French accent fool you, he trained with the Russians,' she says.

I am not fooled at all, I'm not taking him on preconceived ideas, his ruthless pace is all I need to know.

I check the clock and thank my star, whatever it might be, that the class stopped just before twelve. I'll have to rush to get to Bondi beach on time and sneak some more to take a shower there.

I wipe the sweat off with my old towel and am about to throw it in my bag when two pairs of legs block my way.

'So you did get a contract or not?' Ollie asks with no love lost in his tone.

'Cause the rumour is that you did but threw it back at them..' Abi's fierce eyes are trained on me like a sniper to its target.

'Christian is not joining The Company, but he will be training with us so that he is up to scratch for our April production,' Rebecca says before I get to answer. Of course that gets the huffing and muttering up a notch. Couldn't she have let me deal with this? Do I really look so out of place that I need her to champion me in front of my own friends?

' What April production?' Abi asks, her hands placed firmly on her hips contradict the grin and jovial tone.

Rebecca pinches her lip into that tight crooked shape that passes for a smile. 'It is not officially announced yet. But I dare say that it is a very exciting new contemporary piece that will suit you really well.'

'And you have already decided the roles?'

'Yes, I have.' Rebecca still looks so calm, poised with her hands cross demurely in front of her, she could be even angelical were it not for the ice in her gaze. 'We have amazing dancers in this company, Abigail. I told you I only want the best.'

Rebecca glances at the dancers, now all assembled around me. If I wanted to escape quickly before, it is nothing to how badly I want out right now.

Her smile grows more genuine, a little glow warming in her eyes. 'And so I have, and over the year, the best dancers will all get a chance to really shine.' Rebecca directed her attention back to Abigail. 'I'll see to that.'

Ollie opens his mouth to speak, but it is his turn to face the hand. 'You promised me two seasons at the back of corps, Oliver, I am holding you up to it.' Then Rebecca swivels on her toes to exit. 'Christian, we train in the morning, there's no point you attending the afternoon rehearsals. We have two weeks holiday break after the Christmas special, but the studio and gym suite are always open, make good use of them.'

As she leaves the room, the group disperse, all chattering and deliberating what this new production might be about. Ollie throws me dark looks but at least Abigail has been pacified and is quietly gloating. I shove all my stuff in my holdall, slip my trainers on and rush out.

Still

I can't sit still. Strictly speaking that's great because we are not supposed to stay in the same spot for more than twenty minutes lest our attention wanes, but to be honest my head is everywhere but on the swimmers in front of me. All I want to do is be on the phone to Tara to see how she's doing, to be the one telling her that the room is set up, that her parents are moving her stuff. But I can't. She isn't allowed to use her phone in her room, and she's never really out of it. How the doctors are thinking about letting her out of their care when she is still not completely mobile is beyond me.

'No diving!' I shout and let some of my frustration out on the kids having too much fun.

Crushed

When I get home, I can barely walk. I'm about to crash out on the sofa when I realised it has been moved to the side, the TV stand now in the corner alongside it, the coffee table out of the way.

'Hi there,' Neil clamps my shoulders, I nearly swear at the pain of the impact. 'I don't know whether we were allowed to, but we moved things here too, to clear the path, you know.'

I nod. Yes, I know, and I should have thought of it.

'Jan made some dinner for us, are you ready to tuck in?' He opens the oven where a chicken is roasting with some potatoes. The smell makes my tummy rumble. Then I remember that I didn't even buy that chicken. After all that effort, even my shopping isn't up to par? Tara is stuck in an hospital bed with yucky food and here we are, going to have a roast dinner? My whole body tenses up again, my muscles screaming at me. I can't trust myself to speak, I just clench my teeth. I'm about to turn away when Jan puts her hands gently over the top of my arms.

'Christian, you look exhausted.'

And all I want to do is burrow myself against her and be held, and cry, like a little kid, with no reason what-so-ever other than it's just all too much, and life is so unfair, and I don't want to be a part of it anymore. When her arms wound around me, I do just that.

Refined

I don't remember getting into the shower. I don't remember leaving Jan's embrace. I just remember that she advised me to have a rest and go to bed straight after dinner. Neil was nowhere to be seen. He must be so ashamed of me. I sure am. Weeping, like a baby. Now how could he ever see me as anything else?

I slug my way back to the living room to find Masuyo in quiet conversation with Jan and Neil. He nods at me as I approach. I don't know what to make of his presence. Of course the Websters would have invited anyone in the house to join them, that is how generous they are, and I think that's great, but I am a bit torn. There's jealousy stirring in my stomach, but relief in my chest. I don't want him to be here, but I welcome the distraction after the spectacle I made of myself.

Jan fills the plates the second I sit down. Then Neil rattles his throat. 'We're not a specially religious family, but right now there's so much good going on, I just feel like giving thanks.'

Jan nods and closes her eyes. Masuyo and I check each other as if we are brothers facing a weird new custom and not daring to join in unless the other one does. I guess it must be completely weird for him anyway, so I take the lead and lower my gaze.

'What a ride this has been. I am so thankful for my daughter, that she is doing so well, that she is so brave and strong and good-'

I nod, my heart swelling from all the love I have for this girl who, like all of us, is not perfect, but she's so wonderful all the same.

'- I am so glad for Christian here,' Neil reaches over to tap my arm, 'who has sorted all this out for Tara, for his thoughtfulness, and for how much he cares for her.'

That completely constricts my chest.

Neil laughs a little. I look up to make sense of it, but his eyes are still closed and his smile is so warm. 'And I'm thankful for my wife, for the delicious home cooked food and for our guest.' He pauses. 'Erm, Amen, I guess.'

We all laugh at that, well, Neil, Jan and me do. Masuyo cautiously copies our every moves, from the way we cut our meat to what we actually put on our forks. At first his stance is laid back, as much as can be done on those high stools, just like Neil sits. Then his hold on his cutlery becomes lighter, just the way Jan does. And then his back straightens, there's resolve in his eyes, determination in his smile. I wonder why till I realise he is copying me.

Sometimes pressure crushes me flat, sometimes it just brings out the best in me.


	21. Chapter 21 - Pain and Relief

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: He has found her a place to stay, he has moved the furniture, done the cleaning, the shopping, now all Christian wants is to have Tara here with him._

 **Chapter 21: Pain and Relief**

Excruciating

I wait by the front door, pacing this way and that, searching the distance for the yellow of Neil's car. Everything is ready, her bed, her clothes, I've put snacks and drinks by her bed, a book I read last year that she might like, tissues, chewing gums. The grabber thingy is hooked at the side, the extension lead perched within easy reach, my bedside light right in the corner, the switch wound up around the base. As I trudge, I go again through the list. Bedroom? Check. Living room, complete with left over roast? Check. Shower room? Check. Toilet? Check. Access route? Check.

Then, the engine thunders up the hill.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do but as I step forward to get to the passenger door, Neil and Jan are already out and crowding the way. Neil swings the door open and slowly slides his arms under Tara. Her face is ashen, as if every colour, every freckle, every flush, has been drained out of her. Her teeth are clenched, her jaw so tight, her brow so burrowed, the only colours left are ghostly white and shadowy grey, and it only gets worse as he pulls her out of the car into his arms. I rush back into the house, holding every door wide for him to get through.

When Neil lays Tara on the bed, it's like he is trying to rearrange each of her vertebrae, as if simply by doing this he can make it all better. But Tara scrunches her beautiful face into an even darker mask of pain. The tears rolling freely on every bumps of her cheeks do all the shouting she won't let out.

As Neil and I stand beside her, stunned into helpless frozen shapes, it's Jan's turn to get into a rush of activity. She straightens Tara's legs, replaces the covers over her. She caresses the side of her face and soothes her with kisses. She gets bottles of pills out of her bag, makes Tara take two with some of the water I'd got ready, then she places Sir Joshua against her cheek. The tears still roll, fast and thick.

And I get out. I grab my helmet, I rush out of the house, and I ride.

I'm in front of the Company without knowing how I got there. But I rush in. I'm glad I'm in my running pants. Rebecca and Mr Xavier will not approve, but I need to dance. I need to feel the pain. Bring it on, Company principals, bring on your fancy moves, your impressive muscles, your distended tendons, today, I'm going to push as hard as I can till I collapse.

Dull

I bury myself under excruciating training. Mr Xavier seems to approve of my dedication and even the existing dancers look at me with a little more acceptance.

Then I anaesthetise myself with the dulling white noise of the waves, the screams, the splashes.

Another day's work.

Torment

When I get home, the lounge is blissfully deserted. I tiptoe down the corridor to peek through the internal window. The blinds are open. Tara is in bed, reading. That puts a smile on my face. I knock.

The way her face lights up when she sees me makes it all the toiling worthwhile.

With all the big furniture out of the way, Tara's purple duvet cover, the pink one on the other bed, the toiletries by the sink, the girly stuff on the side board, the room suddenly has that feminine touch that gives it warmth and homeliness. A bit cluttered for my liking, but hey.

I grab the desk chair and pull it beside her.

'That's a good one,' she says, indicating the novel in her hands. 'Is it yours?'

'Yeah.'

'Hmmm.'

'How are you, Tara?'

'Ok, although I hope I don't look as tired as you do.'

'Ah ah.'

Tara reaches out to me. I slide my hand in hers. 'Christian, thank you so much. I'm so happy to be here, you can't even begin to imagine. That car ride, oh my goodness, no way I would have coped with going home.'

I sigh in relief. Yes, all worthwhile.

She looks around herself. 'This was Sammy's side.'

I nod. And we say nothing for a long while. I just concentrate on swallowing and breathing, hoping it will stop the nauseating pain throbbing in my chest.

'Do you still miss him?'

I nod again. I'm a useless wordless idiot.

'So do I. But he was a fighter, so much of a fighter. And I'm going to be a fighter too.'

'Ding ding.'

Tara laughs, then cringes as she rearranges her spine. 'Will you still be fighting my corner?'

'Let me warn you now, if you stop fighting, I'll be the one fighting against you.'

Tara gave my hand a strong squeeze. 'In that case, the folder is on top of the desk there.'

I go to fetch the binder. Inside is the schedule for her rehabilitation.

'My physio will try to come every day this week to check on me, but then it will be up to me, us I guess.' She gives a shy glance that warms my insides.

'Yep, definitely, I've got no idea what to do, but if Ethan could help you back then, I can help you too, surely.'

A blush grows on her cheeks, bringing back some much needed colouring to her face. But why she is embarrassed is beyond me. I want to ask her why, but maybe I don't really want to know the answer. If it's embarrassing her, it probably isn't be something I want to hear. But I made a promise, to her and to myself, to be open. I might as well keep it going.

'Why are you blushing?'

'Am I?' she asks, raising her hands to her cheeks, her face turning even redder in the process.

'It looks like it. I don't want to put you on the spot or anything, but I promised to be open, and I gather that includes asking the questions running in my head.'

'I- I see.'

'You don't have to answer, though, I mean, it's up to you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.'

'No, no, I want to tell you.' She laughs. 'This open thing is going to be challenging. Interesting for sure but challenging.' She takes a deep breath. 'A thought just crossed my mind, that was all.'

'About Ethan?'

'About how I told him that no matter how much time he spent helping me, I would still not go back with him.'

KAPOW. There it is, the kind of blunt answer I so didn't want t to hear. And my chest is all tight again.

'I see.'

'Christian, it's-'

'It's okay Tara, completely so. I will help you, no strings attached. If I'm gonna go into teaching, I've got to start somewhere. Rehab work will be as good a place as any.' I grab my bag and get up. 'I'm hungry, shall I bring you something?'

Tara looks at me with worry in her eyes. 'Christian, I-'

'Cheese sandwich, does that sound good?'

Tara nods. 'Yes, please.'

I close the door behind me.

She's right, openness is going to be a challenge, one I'm not sure I'm up to facing.

Remission

I read the folder as I wait for the cheese to melt. Cheddar, good old soothing cheddar.

I bring back the two plates with the folder under my arm and open it back up on the side of the bed.

'Leg stretches and movement, at least three times a day. Up and walking as much as possible. Not staying in the same position for too long. You're going to have cabin fever in here.' Look at me being all chirpy and fun about it, a real actor. Maybe that's why Rebecca wants me, I can pretend to be something I'm not. Two faced? Absolutely.

'I can go outside, if it's flat and even.' Tara puts her hand up at me, just like Rebecca did to shut me up. 'But not today. Today, I've gone through enough. Today I am allowed as much bed rest as I please.'

'Granted. But tomorrow-'

'Tomorrow we're on.'

Relief

The blinds are drawn. I knock softly at the door.

'Who is it?'

'Me.'

'Oh, just a minute.' A lot of shuffling cloth noise later, the door opens.

'Good morning, Christian,' Jan says as she leaves the room.

It still catches me to see Tara in yet another old jogger, all flat on top of her bed. I try to force a motivational smile on my face. 'I thought you might want to do some of your exercises now.'

'What? Before breakfast?'

I check my watch. 'You haven't had your breakfast and it's ten am ?'

'I'm on holiday, can't you see?'

'Holidays is when you get up super early!'

Tara sighs. 'Well, things have changed.'

'Well, let's gets things back in line.' I select a smooth track on my phone and set it on the desk for background music.

'Christian, please turn this off.'

'My music offends you or something?' I joke.

'I just don't want music at all.' And she is not joking at all, her tone is far too stern.

I stare at her for a second, wanting to challenge her, but there is so much wistfulness in her eyes that I just can't bring myself to bring her more pain. I switch it off. 'Okay, up first or legs first?'

'Legs.'

'Rightee-o.' I take her foot in my hand and gently follow the curves as she flexes and straightens it, gently pushing at both ends of the movement. I check her face for pain. Her eyebrows are all scrunched up, but her lips are pursed into a disgruntled pout. I only then realise I am whistling. 'Toe taps now, right?' I sing with the tune.

Tara rolls her eyes but a small smile is sneaking at the corner of her lips, so I carry on with the song as it evolves and merges into a funky mash up. My heart flutters into a weird pattern when her leg gets a lot higher for the stretch than it did two days ago, or maybe it's just because I am supporting her knee up for her. Which is ridiculous. There are not many body parts of Tara's that I haven't supported during our pas-de-deux routines, and yet those knees have suddenly become engrossing.

I rattle my throat. 'Okay, and up.'

I don't know what I should have expected, but I am still not ready for how slow she is. Once she is in her brace and behind her walker, she is back to snail pace, so slow that I hover behind her growing in impatience to just get on. When we finally make it to the lounge, Tara wordlessly take in the changes to the room and my tummy rumbles at the cooked breakfast Jan in rustling up in the kitchen.

Tara inches towards the table and gingerly perches on the edge of the tall stools. 'I always thought these were so weird, you can't sit right in them, but boy am I glad now.'

The little giggle she lets out dislodges the bubble of embarrassment that had lodged itself between my lungs at the thought of her knees and makes it burst throughout my chest.

'Christian, where are you going, dressed like this? This is your dance gear! Are you going to dance?'

That snaps me out of my daze. I glance down at my clothes. Of course, my tights come out from under my shorts. 'Yes, I am.'

'Where? At the memorial, already?'

Jan turns from her cooking to look at me, which is fine, but Tara is scrutinizing my every more. How is she going to take it? Surely she's going to be happy, right? But what I'm fearing most is not her reaction per se, it's the pain she's going to be into if she goes all crazy and tries to jump about, like she normally would. So I step forward to steady her, just in case. I have got to word this just right.

'I am not dancing at the memorial, nor at the Academy. I haven't joined The Company.' Tara's face scrunches right up at that. 'But I will be working with them on projects here and there, freelance type of thing.' Tara's eyebrows shoot up, her mouth gapes a bit. 'So I am training with them to stay in shape.'

'You- You- Oh, Christian!' And yes, she over reacts. And I am not sorry, not a single bit. She has flung herself at me, her arms wrapped around my neck, and for the first time in a very long while, I finally get to hold her.


	22. Chapter 22 - Storm

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian wanted Tara with him at the Boarding House, and now she is, but coping with being in such close proximity to her is proving challenging on many levels._

Crash

But of course that doesn't last. Within seconds, Tara has let go of me and turned beet red.

Even though there had been that thick layer of plastic brace between us, the palm of my hands burn as badly as if they had been straight on her skin.

'I- Erm. That's such good news,' Tara mumbles as she re-positions herself on the stool, her fingers then bothering a strand of hair at the side of her face.

Jan interrupts our awkward parting by placing steaming plates of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of us. I've already had breakfast, but I am bizarrely famished, so I wolf it all down before Jan has gone through a third of hers. Tara only pushes the food from one side of her plate to the other.

'Tara, are you okay?'

'Yeah, yeah sure.'

Jan takes a breath so strong and stretched out it rings like a warning siren. But I don't understand why. Sure that was more teenager-y than I have ever witness Tara to be, but seeing how she's in near constant pain, that's hardly avoidable, surely. I check my watch. 'I'd better go now.'

Tara snorts. 'Yeah go and enjoy yourself whilst I'm stuck here.'

'Tara, look-' But I don't get to finish my sentence. Jan's hand is once again on my arm as she speaks to her daughter. 'I'll stay with you, Darling.'

'No, you're not.' Tara rolls her eyes at her mum. 'You can't let Dad do the Christmas shopping, no way.'

The word Christmas rings in my head. Surely the town is awash with decorations and festive music, but I must have been completely oblivious to it. But then Christmas isn't much of a thing for me at the best of time .

'No, you go.' Tara crosses her arms firmly over her chest, her mouth set. 'I'll just keep myself occupied as everyone else goes about their business, no big deal.'

All the joy and ease that was with us just a few seconds ago are completely gone. There is a greyness in the air that foreshadows a storm. That Tara can be a bit reactive, I'm well used to, from the very first time we met really. But her being this petulant and yet so down in the dump, never. Hot and cold, , tornado conditions, not a good combination.

'I'll stay here then, you can take me through my paces.'

'Oh, NOW you're going to stay, are you?' There is so much hatred in her eyes that I nearly duck for cover, but the thunder in her voice stuns me.

'What? What-?' I fumble for some stability, but I find no words to hold and to and rescue me.

'You haven't stayed very much in the past, have you? Not even when you'd got me that snow! You just couldn't stand to be compared with someone else, did you?'

My brain spins at the sudden backlash. I snap right back. 'You could have come after me.'

But no matter how loud I said this, it's like I didn't say a thing. Tara gets up, her face right in front of mine, unavoidable. ' You didn't stuck much around either when I told you I needed to focus on my dancing. You didn't stay to hear me out about your dad either, did you? And then you tried to wriggle the easy way back in, didn't you? And what were you doing all that time but hitting on my best friend? No surprised you were not sticking around with me then, hey?'

She jabs a finger at my chest, but really she doesn't need to, her words pound, toss, twist, and torture my heart with every syllables.

'You didn't stay on those bloody hospital stairs when I needed you. And you never called. You NEVER call.' She practically spit the words at me. 'Then you ask me about Ben but bugger off with your dad to not come back! You slam my every attempts at kindness right back in my face and then you return to the academy and come to me for help?

She swings her walker between us, pushing me away with its metal frame. 'Where were you when I was in such a state in third year, hey? Where were you? You were in my room talking to me all night, only to once again disappear off before morning came. And then you tell me it was all in my head, that I'm a psycho!'

My heart is so tight and yet blood is drumming in my ears, I'm gasping but still I'm gagging for air.

'Oh, no you do not stay,' she jumps her frame forward, forcing me to step back till she's pushed me halfway across the room. There is no green left in her eyes, just black pupil and red-shot lids. 'You run away, time and again, so run off, Christian, run off. See where that leads you.'

I wobble the last few steps and lurch back into the corridor. But I don't make it much further. There is only one voice in my head right now, on a tyrannical loop, her words piling up on me as I slide helplessly against the wall till I crumple to the ground. Behind it, Jan's voice admonishes her daughter. But Tara's right. I ran, I've been cruel, I've been misguided by my own stupidity, my pride, my conceited views. I have run, time and again.

I'm still listless on the floor when Tara hobbles her way through the corridor back to her room, away from me. All she gives me is a disgusted glance that finishes me off. Now it's not just a want, I NEED to run, I need the air, the oxygen. I'm so desperate I'd crawl out of here if I have to. I scramble on my hands and knees to get up against the undertow trying to pin me back down when Jan pulls me up.

'Don't listen to her, Christian, she's upset, and this is going to hurt, but I was hoping for this.'

I shiver as if I'm drenched and everything besides me is so cold. Is she really rescuing me only to thrown me back? How could she be hoping for this? Have I fooled myself into thinking Jan actually liked me?

'It's so much better than last time, at least now it's getting out. When she hurt her back last year, when she was expelled, nothing came out, she was like a soulless life for so long.'

That was one of those times when I didn't call.

I shake my head, although it does nothing to erase the words, clear my ears or ease the throbbing pain in my throat. 'She is right, Jan, it's all true, all of it.'

'Don't you dare, Christian! It might be true but not the whole picture. You have been there for her. When she broke her knee, when you came to the farm with us, you made her so happy. You still do. Look at all you are doing for her. Look at how much she still cares for you.'

'But it's not enough.' The words spew out, dripping with the desperation I can no longer contain. 'It never was enough.'

'And yet.'

I stare at Jan to make sense of those two words, but she is already turning back to the kitchen.

I lean against the wall then lurch up again. I take determined steps till I get to the door. I don't even knock. I just come in. Tara is lying down on her side but that doesn't stop her from looking fierce such is her anger towards me.

I pull the chair and sit on it.

I say nothing. I just sit and match her stare.

Her jaw clenches. I ready myself for another assault.

But her tears disarm me so much more than any words she could have screamed at me.

I have made Tara cry many times before, but this is nothing compared to it. This is more than disappointment, more than sadness, more than pain. It is even maybe stronger than when Sammy died and she finally let her feelings take over on stage. It's like a tsunami of pant up frustration and anger rushing out of her with all the hurt, all the damage that I have caused, and it crashes at me like relentlessly breaking kahunas. Tears rush down my own cheeks, I'm not even sure why.

Somehow I find the strength to grab the pillows from Jan's bed and wedge one behind Tara's spine to protect it, and keep hold of the other like a buoy to my chest. I lay my face on the mattress, in the harbour made by the curve of her body between her chest and her bent knees.

'I am so sorry.' And for some reason, that makes her cry even more.

I stay like this for what seem like hours, drifting, lulled by her calming down breaths, not daring to look up for fear of finding just more sea of pain, oceans of it.

Then Tara blows her nose like a fog horn.

Maybe safe land is near.


	23. Chapter 23 - Christmas

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian thought Tara would be thrilled at the idea that he is going to be dancing freelance for the Company, and so she was, until she collapsed into depressive mode and unleash all the hurt that she has suffered back at him._

Christmas

Christmas. Christmas.

The word rings in circles in my head as I finally make it out of the house. I'm not supposed to join The Company for rehearsals but I might as well, seeing I've not made it to the actual training this morning.

I walk into The Company to find the studios empty. I don't kid myself into thinking this could be an 'off' day; they must have moved to the Opera House already.

I keep the light switched off, but prop the door open. I plug my phone into the sound system, and I let loose for a bit.

No surprise Tara can't cope, she can't even find release like this, like we, dancers, do.

The thought weighs on me, heavy like the ocean when there's no moon to pull it up. The next track on the shuffle list fits the mood just right. And I dance for Tara, for how she would have danced if she could have had two hours ago, giving way to the sorrow, the blues.

It's heart wrenching dancing like this, yet it gives me but a flavour of what it must be like for her. It frustrate me so much that my moves sharpen, building into rightful anger, responding only to the strongest beat of the music, not its smooth melody.

The music end and I drop to the floor, but the lights get switched on, and I jump right back up, on guard.

Wes just stares at me. His eyes are dark and judging, but a grin is tucked at the corner of his mouth. He steps in to retrieve some CDs by the sound system.

'I am wondering how much more surprises you might have in store for us, Christian. I had you pinned as a great dancer, but not a choreographer. I'm now even more excited about working with you in April.'

I say nothing. What the heck could I say to this? I've choreographed hundreds of Hip Hop tracks, literally.

'Is this just the one piece, or part of a project? I mean, it can't be for your future students, right?'

I huff. 'I was just messing about.'

'The mood was definitely messed up, that's for sure. You should make something of it. Particularly that sequence.' Wes comes to the centre of the floor and copies a section that I can barely remember. 'I really liked this.'

I should feel proud, or chuffed at least. Here is one of the company's new choreographer's and he is complimenting me, but instead, I feel cold. What is he trying to do? Be another Zach? What? Just because I am moving on from the Academy I need another mentor? Do I have 'desperate case in need of saving' written that obviously on my forehead?

'Yeah, I need to go now, see you around.' I grab my stuff and head off.

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Christmas, Christmas.

God I wish I could be dancing still, and that makes me even angrier with Wes for disturbing me.

Christmas is so important to Tara, and she is going to spend it stuck to a bed in the Boarding House, a fate she saved me from at the end of First year, a fate I have pinned her to.

I rack my brain for what I could get her to make it a bit more bearable and all that comes to mind is either too lame or far too easily read as romantic. No, I won't do an Ethan and get her jewellery. I can't take her to a show, I can't get her anything dance related, even less anything to do with rehab. And seeing how she feels about music right now, I can't even make her a Hip Hop educational mix. Goodness, wasn't a mixed CD what she gave Ethan?

Ethan. His name keeps cropping up in my head too. So of course I then think of Ben. Ben would think of something special. For crying out loud, the guy got her the ice rink! He did a dance for her, in full view of everyone. He wore her tutu and bra to wind her up and get her attention. The guy was limitless. And I have no clue. Yeah, I can tell him to do something special, but I wouldn't have a idea where to start.

What would I want if I were her? All I would want would be my normal Christmas, in the outback, with my fifty plus uncles, aunts and cousins, with as much food as I can stuff into myself against the drop back of the rolling hills.

I pause right in my track only until the sound of horns remind me I am in the middle of crossing a road. I hurry to the other side. Her family, there might be something we can do about that.

But what about me? What can I get her?

I take the public transport to Bondi Beach and spend my whole shift looking at all the girls swimming, splashing and sunbathing, listing what they are likely to want. I find it so easy, but then, how can it not be when I actually have no reason to care about something special for them?

I am none the wiser when I get home, but at least I get to set a plan in motion about the family. Jan and Neil are so excited about it, at least with that I am on the right track.

Between training, all the extra shifts I had to cover and the few sessions of rehab I've helped Tara through, time has run out.

My present is lame. Lame but the only thing that I could think of. And it has to do with rehab. But then, what is going to be more important to Tara through the next few weeks?

I wrap her pass for the local swimming pool in nice paper, and use some left over to make a patchwork card rather than a bought one, and I spend hours, and I mean it, hours, looking for a four leaf clover. When I finally get one I check my back pocket for it all the way back home, then I can finally breathe when I stick it to dry between the pages of my favourite book. One that she could read next, thinking of it.

I join Jan and Neil at the front of the house as they come with arm loads of groceries.

Tara hobbles her way through as we empty the last bag.

Her face is so bright, so happy as she helps in whatever way she can to decorate the common room. She dragged Masuyo out of his room to help us, and the three of us are going crazy filling up every possible gaps. I don't think there has ever been a room with quite as much tinsel as this has now.

Jan teaches me how to prepare some little pastry things she calls canapes, Masuyo is showing Tara how to roll some sushi rice and Neil is prepping the BBQ meat. I get lost in the preparations the way I've done two years ago, like I am just one more part of a big loving family. Although this year, I have no idea who is going to be eating all this food or where we might possibly have a barbecue.

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I wake up and I'm like a little kid who's just old enough to know it is far too early to wake and still young enough to be excited about Christmas. I'm probably eight then, before Drew grew annoying and would slap my head anytime I got on his nerve. And being awake and all jumpy at this time of morning would have definitely done that. I'm not even sure why I'm so all over the place, I just don't know what to do about it. So I just get dressed and head out.

I'm halfway down the corridor when a voice whispers behind me.

'Where are you going so early?'

Tara is standing there in her frilly shorts and top, and I blush.

'Too late if you've forgotten presents, the shops won't be open yet,' she teases me.

'I'm all done, I just can't sleep.'

'Hm, me neither, where are you off to?'

'Just a walk.'

'Can I come?'

This day is promising to be wonderful. I nod.

'One minute then.' Tara wobbles to her room and comes back well outside of her one minute with a bundle of cloth on the top bar of her walker. She puts her sweater on, then it's her turn to have burnt cheeks.

'You're going to have to help me with these,' she points at the jogging bottom and shoes dangling by their laces.

Emotions run riot in my body. There's mild embarrassment, of course and a fair bit of lust that I can't quite restrain as I pull her trousers up for her. But it's all marred by the wringing of pain from the memory of helping my mother, just like this, for so long before the end. I close my eyes and chase the thought away. _Tara is fine. She might not be walking, but her health isn't in jeopardy. She's doing great. She's going to be fine,_ I chant in my head as I tie her laces.

I guide Tara out although, to be honest, I'm probably in her way more than anything. I'm just glad she doesn't say anything.

And we step out.

It's already getting light outside, a beautiful bright morning, a clear sky, and gorgeous summer's day, all quiet before the whole of Australia wakes up and gets filled up by little kids even more excited than me, if that's possible.

When we get back, Neil and Jan are still not up, so we sip hot drinks perched on the stool, in the quiet of the room and the flashing fairy lights reverberating of the tinsel like spot lights on disco balls.

Tara rushes, well she doesn't but it's what she would have done if she could, to cuddle her mum the second Jan walks in. Neil is not far behind, bringing Masuyo behind him. And Christmas begins.

I can't quite breathe right as Tara opens my present for her first. Her eyebrows go all twisty for a second, then she smiles politely. Damn.

'From what I've read swimming might end up being one of your favourite things soon enough.'

Tara smiles again, more genuinely, but still with reserve. Then I spot the redness on her cheeks. It takes a few seconds for me to remember the last time she swam, with me, at my pool, and how we had kissed, and how magical it had been, no matter how unreliable she claimed such moments to be. And I get all hot too. Damn, there goes my attempt at not being in the least romantic.

Her expression is something else when she opens her parents' present. They've got her a new laptop. 'Oh my goodness, this is so cool, mine is falling apart!' Tara tried to get up to hug her parents, but all it got her is a nasty pain that makes all of us wince.

It takes for all of them to look at me with great intent to realise that there are two presents left under the tree.

I bite my lips as I go to retrieve them. I had only got a bottle of wine for Tara's parents, and a few interesting tracks on a memory stick for Masuyo to listen to, if he ever grows an interest in my kind of music. I hate receiving presents. I hate the attention. I hate the not knowing how to react, the eyes on me, the thoughtfulness that hurt too much. So I hold both in each hand, not knowing where to start.

Tara pushes the one on the left towards me. 'This one first, from us.'

I glance at Neil and Jan. Their smile bolsters me on.

'Oh my goodness,' escapes my lips. There are two tiny speakers in there and I know from the adds they are meant to pack a mean sound punch, no matter their size. 'Thank you so much, you shouldn't have.'

But before I can thank them properly, Tara is pushing the other present back into my hands. 'That one is from me.'

So of course I want to set it aside and open it all by myself, in the privacy of my own space. I gulp and tear the paper. It's a frame, simple and blue, but inside is a picture taken at the farm, from another Christmas, with Jan and Neil and Tara at my side.

'It's a bit lame, I haven't had a great chance of doing much, but I wanted to say thank you, for all this,' she circled her arm to encompass the room then she wraps it around me to hold me tight, 'and to say that you're part of my family.' Her voice wobbled on the last words, ringing so strongly in my ear as she hugs me. And I don't know what to make of it.


	24. Chapter 24 - Painkiller

_This is the edited version of chapter 24 posted last week. A reader made me aware that I had brought forward an event that was meant to happen much much later. Not quite sure what happened to me here but it's probably due to excitement and the fact that I have now written the last four chapters of this story and that it may make me too eager to get there already! Thank you, guest reader, for pointing that out. I tweaked other things too. If it was something else you felt was unrealistic, then my facts and yours must just clash.)_

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 _Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christmas hasn't been much of an occasion for Christian for quite a while. And yet, spending it with Tara brings back all the magic, and not just a few weird moments. Christian didn't know what to get for Tara. He settled for a swim pass for Tara. Hopefully, she'll be able to use it soon._

Painkiller

Christmas, boxing day, New Year, it all got chained up, one after the other, so quickly that I can barely remember how happy Tara was with my last Christmas surprise. With Jan and Neil's help, we had orchestrated things so that each of her extended family members called her on webcam throughout the day. She would have wanted her family to be there. I had got her the closest alternative. Her smile that day; I wish I could bottle it up and keep it forever.

But now, only two weeks down the line, I get only blurry shots of how Neil managed to scavenge a barbecue from some neighbours, and how many people turned up from our road to celebrate a little bit of Christmas on the green under the bridge, and how happy that had made her.

What I can remember all too well is her crestfallen face. That, I can't quite get it out of my mind.

She'd been right beside me when I'd received Raf's message.

'Who's this?' she'd asked.

I had tried to get the phone away from her, to take back time and rewind, to have opened it alone. 'That's my brother, Drew.'

Tara had snatched the phone off me. 'I'd forgotten you're an uncle! Oh, those kids are so cute. What's their names?'

'I don't know.'

That's when the well meaning face took hold, and I wanted to wipe it off, to get Tara's attention back on the food, on the festive music, on anything but my non-existent family.

'Oh Christian, you shouldn't be here, you should be with them!'

I tried not to glare. I tried to remain calm. It didn't quite work. 'No, Tara, I so completely should be here. I was not invited there.' Then I looked around me. Strictly speaking, I wasn't invited here either.

'But it's your family, Christian.'

I pleaded with my eyes, with my hands grabbing hers. 'Tara please, please not now. If you've learnt one thing about me, please let it be to let me deal with this my way, in my own time, and not now, Tara, please not now.'

That stopped her right in her track. Waves of emotions flicked on her face. Disappointment, disapproval, distaste even, but eventually, she nodded.

'Okay.'

And I breathed again.

'I guess you could still go and see them for Easter.'

My breath caught half inhaled.

'Okay, okay, I'll leave you to deal with it.' It was her turn to give me a pleading glance. ''But you won't get angry if we talk about it another time, will you?'

'Tara.'

'You know, Christian, sometimes other people do know what might be best for you.'

I stare at her, reading all there is to see behind her eyes: her genuine care, her deep love for her family, her hopes and wishes for me.

'If you go gently on me, and if you accept that I might not be ready, maybe.'

Tara lowered her eyes. 'Like you are with me?'

I chest got all tight and all wobbly at the same time. 'I guess.'

And then her face became all sorrowful, like all hope had drained away from her, filled up instead with fear, with the worry that things might never get better.

I had tried to freeze and commit to memory how she had smiled, how she had laughed, how happy she had looked, to store it for safe retrieval to get us through the rough times. But that sad face, that's the only one I can see it when it's all going downhill.

She's had her stitches removed yesterday and her skin is still so sore. And she had a physio assessment, and things are not going quite as well as it should. She is in much more pain than she should be, and she's got enough of things not moving on. We've got two weeks before her six week scan, and she is on a mission, but I'm not sure she is counting the cost.

'That's it, Tara, enough for today.'

'The schedule says I need to do hip bridges by now, let's do them.' She gets her feet near her bum, but instead of pinning her feet down for her, it's her hips I am holding to the ground.

'What has changed since yesterday?'

'Yesterday was my first try, today will be better.'

'Yesterday you ended up taking even more pain killers, Tara.'

'I thought you said you'd fight my corner. But if you're no longer up to it, I'll find someone else.'

'Come on, Training Bra. I am fighting your corner, and right now it means not letting you crash into overkill.'

Tara grumbles and rolls to her side. Slowly she straightens her legs to standing, replaces her brace and grabs her walker.

I follow her all the way to the common room thinking how she shouldn't need her walker so much anymore, how she must be so aware of it herself.

The moment Tara sits down, Jan switches off the TV and starts fussing. 'So how was it? It looks like it wasn't too good today, but don't worry, you'll get there, Darling, you will.'

Tara sighed. 'Mum, what are you going to do today?'

'What- what am I going to do?'

'Yes, there's a whole town out there. The beach, the parks, the shopping malls, the museums. Come on, get out there, do something.'

'Tara, I'm here to-'

'To help me, I know, but I don't need you all the time, Mum, you might as well make the most of being here. We'll be back home before you know it.'

The sadness in her tone escapes neither of us as Jan and I exchange quick glances.

'Don't you want to come home, see Dad, the animals, get the fresh air?'

Tara rolled her eyes. 'Fresh air, in the outback in January, I see!'

Jan let out a massive huff. 'Well, as you say, there are plenty things for me to see, and so I shall go and do just that. You have fun locked in this place.' She grabbed her handbag and stopped right beside me. 'Don't stay stuck here just because she's in a mood, Christian, neither you nor I deserve this.'

As if Tara does. Sure she's being hard to handle at the moment. But I signed up for the long hold.

'So, what do you want to do now? Watch a movie?'

Tara throws me a nasty side glance. 'I'm going to read.' She hobbles to her room.

'Not lying down, Tara.'

'Whatever.'

I sigh and collapse into the sofa. The Company is on their last week of break, and somehow I am looking forward to them being back. Training on my own in their studio and the gym isn't much fun. Training there when Abi is there too is even worst. I swear that girl is possessed.

I'm about to switch the TV on when a crash and cry has me back on my feet and down the corridor in seconds.

Tara is crumpled on the floor, her feet looking all twisted underneath her.

'Don't move, Tara, I'm here. Please don't move.' But I don't know where to start, how to help. So I do the first thing that comes to mind. I lower myself right to her level and slide underneath her. 'Grab my neck.'

Tara wraps her arms and tightens them so hard they press on my windpipe. But I ignore the sudden lack of oxygen. I just use the leverage I still have in my legs and slowly, so slowly, I push up.

'Ahhhh.'

But it's a good ah, right? That's a ''ahh'' that sounds like a massage, not like pain, right?

'Is that okay, Tara?' I squeak.

'Oh yes! Please stay like this.'

I move her wrists away from my throat and hold them across my clavicles. Clavicle: one of these words I would never have known if we hadn't done anatomy for two years. A little laugh escapes me as I stay slightly bent over with all of Tara's weight on my back.

'What's funny?' she asks, her voice muffled from her cheek resting on my shoulder blade.

'Nothing. Are you good like this? Does it help?'

'Yeah, but you can get me back down now.' Her weight shifts, as is she is taking control of her own muscles again. But I stay still.

'A bit longer?'

Tara sighs and replace her face against my back. 'Okay.'

After a little while, she straightens up. 'Could you pass me my brace, please?' Her face is all limp from resignation till she looks up with a forced smile.

For the rest of the morning, she sits when I tell her to sit. She stretches when she is told to, she eats what I give her, she is being perfect patient. But the facade doesn't last. Before long, the sighs are back.

'Can we go out?'

'Sure.'

We get our stuff and I ready myself for the thousandth trip around the tiny park. We tried to go down the hill once, but coming back up after only a few meters had been excruciating.

We follow the pavement till we get to the top of the steps. Normally Tara doesn't seem to even notice them, but today she has stopped.

'I wish I could go down there.'

And all I want is to make her wish come true. My brain goes on over drive. But there is no way on earth she would manage that many steps. No way at all.

'Soon, Tara, soon.'

Tara throws me a reproachful glare, but I let it bounce off me. I draw her towards the grass.

'The other day you were talking about what happened to your cousin Ryan when you went to see the caves. You never finished. What did he do that time?'

And just like that, her face becomes all illuminated, lost in the pleasure of story-telling. And she is great at it. Together, walking through the shadow and sun strips from the bridge above us, we leave the pain and the frustration behind and get lost in the crazy adventure of Tara's careless cousin.

I might not have a clue how best to help Tara. I might not be the best person to do it in the first place, but right now, I'll settle for being her painkiller.


	25. Chapter 25 - Cornered

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: After the Christmas highs come the January blues, but no matter how difficult the rehabilitation process is being for Tara, Christian is still there, and he has found ways to be part of the solution._

Cornered

I get to the studio after my pool shift to find it once again blessedly deserted. I don't even bother to put music on, I just dance all the happiness bubbling in me from my little breakthrough with Tara. I dance with hope. And it's lively, exhilarating even. Such a stark contrast from what Wes saw. Both dances keep trotting in my head. So I refine them, I tweak, I try to remember the nuances. I watch for patterns.

But then, my head is about to explode. I rummage through my bag but find nothing useful. I grab my phone, but there's no way I can type all this on stupid predicted text. I open the voice record app and try to explain, but I just end up mumbling and rephrasing; it's useless.

So I trawl through The Company building. The store rooms are locked, not that it would contain anything I might need. The janitor's cupboard is open, but what the heck am I going to find of use in there. I'm not going to draw my dance on toilet paper, am I? The office is, like every other door, decidedly closed off. But then I spot the photocopier and take a whole wad of paper out of the drawer.

And I draw, I sketch, I label. It's not great, but it will have to do. By the end, I've covered both sides of at least fifteen A4 sheets.

I'm still on a high of excitement as I get out, only to come crashing back to Earth as I bump into Abigail coming out of the gym. And she just stares at me with those narrowed eyes that make me feel both naked and guilty when I have nothing to hide. Have I?

'Was that your new role I saw you practicing for?'

'What? Oh no. I was just, you know, dancing.'

'Ah, no. Not with me, Christian. You can bat your eyelashes at every other girls and fool them, but not me. That was not just dancing.'

'Well it was.'

'So what is this? She points at the ream of paper still in my clutch.

I can't help it, before I even realise how pathetic this is, I've moved them behind my back.

Abigail holds out her hand, her whole body blocking as much as she can of the way out.

I just raise my eyebrows. She might be the strongest, most pig-headed person with low morals I ever met, but I won't let her intimidate me.

The glare falls at my stance, and she smiles that warm cheeky grin of hers that transforms her face from tyrant to cherub. I've gained her approval. 'Oh come on, Christian, just show me. You know I'll find a way if I want it bad enough.'

I laugh with her. 'Yeah, you probably would, but it's not worth bothering, trust me. I promise, this has nothing to do with the April show.'

Abigail turns to free the corridor and walks alongside me. 'So, what is it?'

I shrug. 'Just some ideas.'

'I liked what I saw.'

'Was it the sad or the happy one?'

She stops for a second. 'There's more than one piece?'

'Abs, it's not a piece, it's just me messing about. But yeah, so far there seems to be two.'

'Hmm. Well, it definitely wasn't the happy one, or if it was, it's not very good at all.'

'Maybe it isn't.'

'Can I see then?'

I slide my rucksack off my shoulder and shove the papers in. 'Not ready yet.'

Abigail scrutinises me with that trademark lopsided pout, measuring my resolve.

I just stand firm and placid.

'I see.' Abigail shrugs as she walks on again. 'How's Tara?'

'Good, she's good. Well, some of it is good, some of it not so much. She's not progressing as quickly as she'd like. But sometimes it's as if she forgets she's had complications, and more swelling, so of course it would take more time than what it says in her stupid forums.'

Abigail gave me a knowing raise of her eyebrow. 'Tara and her internet, hey!'

'You've said it.'

'Can I come and see her now? She would be home, right?'

'Yeah, she would. Course you can come.'

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When we arrive, Tara is sitting in one of the tall stools again, the only place she is comfortable, really, apart from her raised bed. Anything low is both painful and impossible to get out of. She has two guide books spread in front of her and a note pad with a list taking most of the page.

Jan rolls her eyes at me. 'Tara is planning my life.'

Both Abigail and I laugh.

That's when Tara notices us. She tries to get up to greet Abigail, but quickly sits down again. Abigail exchanges a side look with me.

'Hey you, how are things?'

'Oh well, great, as you can see.'

'Will you be staying to dine with us Abigail?' Jan asks.

'Oh no, I just wanted to say hi, really. And I also wanted to do this.'

Before I can even notice her move, she's grabbed my bag off the floor, unzipped it and got the papers out.

'Oh my goodness, Christian,' she giggles as I fail to retrieve it. 'You could have shown me this, it means absolutely nothing to me.'

'What is it? Abigail, what is it?' Tara is so curious, she nearly gets out of her seat.

'Christian's new dance, and it does look half decent in real life, if not on paper,' Abigail says between guffaws and finally lets me get it back.

Tara holds her hand out to me. 'Can I see?'

And I can't say no to her. Maybe I should, but I just can't.

I don't want to look desperate, I want to look elsewhere as if her opinion does not matter to me at all, but my eyes keep scanning her face for every changes that might happen there.

She scrunches her eyebrows, then raise them right up, her lips pinched as if she is holding back laughter. Then she nods, an overly kind smile barely rounding her cheekbones. 'You should ask Ethan to teach you choreographic notation.'

My whole body tenses.

'Absolutely right.' Abigail comes back to join us, her mocking grin still taunting me.

'You know what?' Tara says. 'Let's ask him now.'

She pulls her laptop from underneath the Sydney Lonely Planet and starts up an online chat.

'No Tara, don't, I don't need-'

But she's already connecting. And she is all smile. She and Abigail playfully vie for Ethan attention, their voices rising up with shrill intensity, and I am eaten alive with jealousy, tugging at my stomach, constricting my throat, tightening my jaw.

'Look Ethan, how hard would it be too teach someone traditional notation?' Tara finally asks after many flirty platitudes.

'It depends, why? Two days ago you were telling me things were doing fine. Surely nothing's changed so bad that you've now given up? Are you alright?' he asks with great concern. And I want to punch him right through the screen. What does he mean, two days ago? How long have they been speaking? And how comes that I don't know about it?

'Not for her, Ethan, for this one ruminating behind me,' Abigail teases some more.

I just about manage to stretch my arm for a wave as Abigail and Tara part shoulders to reveal my neglected presence.

'Christian? Choreography that you actually need to write down? Wow!'

I shut my jaw so tight I'm worried for my teeth.

'Look, sure I can. What have you got so far?'

Abigail snatches my sketches out of my hands again. 'This,' she says with a trill of laughter that makes my fist curl in even more.

But at least Ethan is not joining in, and that calms me some. He squints to see the paper through the poor web link. 'Okay, I get some of it. You know what, Christian?'

Just the fact that he is talking straight to me, with a business face on, I can breathe that little more easily. I wedge myself between Tara and Abigail to better listen as he keeps reading what he can see. 'Yes, I know. How about you scan those to me. And if you get a chance to video yourself, do and send me that too. I'll get you some easy notes on the basics, and then I'll get some of it down. You're a bright guy, you'll make sense of it fast enough.'

'No, look, I'm sure you're busy and all, don't worry.' I reclaim my work and shove it down my pants, daring Abigail with a stare. Her disgusted face says it all: I've won. I return my attention to Ethan. 'It's okay, I'm not even sure why Tara is bothering you with this, it's nothing really.'

Ethan smirks. 'Are you worried I'm gonna steal it from you?'

I smirk right back. 'You should, it's that good.'

'Oh, really?'

'Yeah, really.'

And just like that, it's as if we are back in First Year, jesting with each other.

'Well, the girls have seen it, so you can claim copyright, and I've got plenty amazing ideas of my own to keep me busy for years. But you know what? I'm planning to come to Sydney at the beginning of February. I can help you with notations then.'

I start for a second. 'Where are you?'

'Hasn't Tara told you? I'm doing a stint in Austin.'

'I see.'

'Did she tell you that Ben is the principal there now? Not bad, hey? But I guess you're not doing bad either, from what Tara tells me.'

So she talks to him about me, but not to me about him. I see.

'Seriously, Christian, if choreographing is something you might be interested in, then notation is going to be a must. You'll crack it, and you'll see, it really helps.'

'I- look, thanks but I have no plans really.'

'Yeah, you do. Right guys, I've got to go. Talk again soon, Tara. And Abi, call me too, it'd be good to catch up.'

Argh, the smiles, I just can't stand the smiles, on either side of the screen.

'And Christian, you know where to find me now, so do.'

And I want to keep on hating him. But I somehow I just can't.


	26. Chapter 26 - There Again

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Tara is talking to Ethan. Tara is talking to Ethan. What the heck is that supposed to mean. And why is everyone trying to push me into choreographing. My dancing years are only just starting, for crying out loud!_

There Again

Jan's phone beeps. She looks around like a startled rabbit and rushes out. Not that she will have any more news. I'm as on edge as she is, but my phone is on silent and I refuse to look at it. What am I supposed to say to whoever is asking for news apart from ''Fuck off, I know nothing!''?

I sit. I pace. I sit again, like a Neil replacement. It must be so much harder for him, alone in the Outback. Not that he could do anything if he were here but pacing with me.

Tara's spine is once again in the hands of the surgeons. Her pain was so consistent that they've done the scan early. And it wasn't good. The healing wasn't happening right, the metal cage meant to hold Tara's vertebrae was getting caught or something. All because of the excess swelling, they said.

I hang my head low. Could I have done more? Should I have actually listened to her instead of telling her what to do? After all, it's not my body. What do I know how it feels like? But Tara can be so stubborn, and so inconsistent!

I lurch up so abruptly the old man beside me jumps in fright. I can't even find it in myself to apologise.

Jan walks back like a zombie, all slouched and pale.

And then the doctor comes over. He doesn't have to say a word before Jan and I hug. The man is beaming, positively beaming, surely that must be good news.

'It took a while, but all the extra growth over the cage has been removed. Tara's muscles have really strengthened around the spine. It's looking really good. Of course Tara will be in pain because of the surgery, but she should be much better after that. She's in the waking up room, I'll come and get you when she's ready.'

I collapse to the seat and tiredness suddenly swoops on me like a ton of bricks. The adrenaline rushes out of me in such a strong gush that I could fall asleep.

Jan taps my shoulder to rouses me, so maybe I did, but I'm up and standing in seconds.

I'm loving this new doctor more and more. Not only is he still smiling, but he is actually taking us down at fast pace.

Tara looks groggy, but her grin is so wide it fills me back up with energy.

Reassured I leave Jan and Tara in peace to catch up and get to the nearest staircase, take my phone out and text everyone.

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I am so glad I do not have a shift today. I orchestrate the visits instead. Tara looks so positive, a bit drugged out so that might have a part to play but there is so much hope in her it radiates on her skin and I can just stay here and watch her shine. But then my tummy cramps as if it's readying for something bad, which is ridiculous, until the thought arrives fully formed from my gut reaction to my head, and my muscles all tighten up.

What if this is all false hope? What if this younger doctor is simply not experienced enough? Not necessarily over the surgery, but over how to handle patient expectations. I remember Dr Harrison's standoffish stance, how angry I was that he seemed so remote, but what if that was simply more than just protecting his own back, and a lot more to do with not being too positive in case things do go wrong?

I did a ''Tara'' last night after she was admitted over night ready for an early morning surgery. I had got her laptop out - Jan had to confiscate it to force Tara to actually sleep - and searched for spine fusion forums. I went on all of them, every single one of them.

Second surgery isn't that exceptional. For some it is to remove the cage altogether. For others it's to resolve complications, just like Tara.

Reading through the realms of testimonies, I completely got why she goes on those sites, why she looks at every single video. It's reassuring to know that others are going through the same thing. But it is also mind boggling.

There is no consistent data, no common line apart from the very basic: everyone is in pain, everyone gets frustrated with the recovery, but everything else is different: how long before they stop using the walker or wearing a brace? What was the entry point for surgery and the extent of the scaring? Which vertebrae were fused? How is that helpful?

Even if someone had the same surgery as Tara, they are not Tara, with her drive, with her strong dancer's body that could do the most amazing back bend, her trade mark move.

The only other thing in common is how few actually make it back to full use of their bodies. And that makes everything inside me squirm.

Kat glances at me as if she's sensed something is going wrong but she is still giggling. They are laughing so much together, Tara trying hard not to in case it hurts too much, but the incisions were so much smaller this time, maybe that helps.

Kat hugs Tara tight then grabs me by the arm to tug me out, her smile as wide as it can grow, like a full sun. 'Wow, that's a relief!'

I say nothing.

'What?' the smile disappears behind a dark cloud. 'Do you know something I don't?'

'No, I don't,' I say as I walk away from the door.

'So what's up? Come on, Christian, you're supposed to be her cheerleader, you can't be all down in the dump like this!'

I collapse to the nearest chair I can find. 'Me, a cheerleader? Are you off your head?'

'Christian, what's up?' Kat budges me over so that we can both perch on the seat.

'What if it still doesn't work? What if she is never rid of the pain? What if she can never dance again?'

'I thought you and I knew there is a whole life out there beside dance.'

A nasty shiver runs through me, my mind filling up with images of Tara dancing. My body instinctively reacts, recalling the rush of energy, of passion, of freedom coursing through me when the music starts before I dance. How the light changes, even when I'm not on stage. How the world becomes infinitely smaller and within, and yet explodes and expends around to encompass all the surroundings.

Jan's words come back to me: ''Skate boarding, surfing, dancing, all very physical stuff.'' My stomach heaves like I'm gonna be sick.

I have spent the last five weeks thinking about all the things Tara could do if dancing was out of the question, but never really believing she would have to resort to them. I've been fighting her corner so that she could dance again, just like she wants to, just like she always has. And yet, at the back of my mind, the other options remained, waiting just in case, but definitely there, and positively so. But I never thought of me.

Just the concepts of options cripples me into a hapless form that wants to spring back and bounce all over the place. All I do, everything that brings me a modicum of pleasure, of release, of joy, is physical. The idea that I couldn't-

I can't even formulate it. It constricts my throat, it ties my body, it awakes a rage in me so strong I could explode like Hulk. Caged, I would be caged. In prison and not just for a few months because of getting into stupid trouble, but for life. Life sentence.

I gulp but my spit doesn't quite make it down and I choke on it, gasping for air.

Kat slaps me hard between the shoulder blades. 'Christian, are you alright?'

I nod, but I walk away. I rush back to Tara's room, force a smile and grab my bag. I only barely notice Abigail sitting here till it dawns on me that she's out of schedule.

'Why are you here early?' I snap.

Abigail stare at me with an affronted rise of one eyebrow. 'Change of schedule, what's it to you? Tara is pleased to see me.'

I have no reply so I huff, turn around and leave the room.

My feet find their way out of the hospital till I get to the tiny park up front.

I get my phone out and select the one demented Stravinsky's track I need and I dance my rage and fear to the beating chaos of The Ritual of Abduction right out on the scorched grass.

I start it all over again, I lose count how many times, my feet pounding the ground, my whole body crooked, tortured in excruciating shapes.

It's only when I'm about to collapse that I become aware that people have stopped to stare, some in fright, some in mild curiosity, a few with admiring looks, and of course there's more than a few phones held out. Let them, let them post it on their silly social media, let them like it, or mock it, I couldn't care less.

This is how Tara and I speak, this is my voice. Without it I would be voiceless.


	27. Chapter 27 - Homes

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian has finally realised what it would mean to him if he lost the ability to dance. At long last, he might start to understand just how much it actually matters to Tara._

Homes

I shake the guy's clammy hand and leave. My goodness, this flat share is going to be grim, but it's all I can afford. I jog down the four flights of stairs that smell of every human bodily fluid I can think off, and yet it does look clean enough. I ride back to the hospital as quickly as legally allowed.

I walk straight to her room, but there's a bloke in the bed. I ask the nurse at the counter, only to be told Tara has been discharged early this morning.

After just two days?

I rush home, down the corridor, straight to her room. The cupboard and chest of drawers are being gutted, the suitcases filled, Neil already dragging one behind him as he passes by me.

'Hey, City boy.'

Even the bed is no longer there.

'What? What's happening?'

Tara giggles right behind me. 'Time to move out.'

I stare at her in utter shock, my body frozen in place. 'Are you going back home? Now, really? What about your rehab, what-'

Tara presses a finger to my lips. 'Whoa, whoa, calm down. I'm not going home, not yet at least.'

Jan gives Tara a wistful glance.

'What, but?'

Abigail appears from behind a pile of boxes. 'She's moving in with me.'

'What?' When have I become such an inarticulate parrot?

Tara beams at me. 'Abigail's flatmate has moved in with her boyfriend, so I'm moving in with her.'

Abigail gives her a warning stare that makes me want to stand right between them, but then her glare changes aim and targets me. 'Lucy is indeed moving in with her boyfriend but The Company is not to know.'

'Why, what the heck is it to them?'

'It is to them that they pay for the flat, so she's meant to be there.'

'And her boyfriend is not even a dancer,' Tara adds in a conspirators' whisper.

'I know!' Abigail rolled her eyes as if that was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone.

'Well so much for freedom and choice. I'm damn glad I didn't sign that contract!'

Tara edges herself between us. I'm not sure who she is protecting from the other, but she is facing me, as if Abigail is the one in danger. Hasn't Tara learnt that Abigail needs no protection from anyone but herself?

'Christian! Calm down.'

I don't want to get angry. I don't want to lash out, but I can't help it. That haughty Mummy tone she uses with me, I can't stand it, it makes my blood boil right through.

'Are you really telling me that you are going to move in on the sly with the one girl that has singlehandedly made your life hell through your whole time at the Academy?' The words tumble completely unchecked and out of control, but I don't care that Abigail can hear it all.

'Abigail got me through Sammy, and through the Prix de Fonteyn.' Tara's eyes filled with red rage. 'When no one else did!'

Abigail has the dignity to look abashed, but it's too late.

I bang the door behind me, trying to wipe out Jan's consternated face out of my memory. All I see as I rush out of the house is Tara slamming her hand to her mouth.

I run across Dawes Point Park, kick off my shoes and crash dive into the sea. With all the ferries the water is bound to be disgusting, but that's exactly how I feel, we're a perfectly polluted match.

I freestyle along shore at full speed. After a while I'm too knackered to sustain the pace, so I turn around and slowly swim my way back till I get back to where I started. I drip my way across Hickson and lay on the dry grass in full sunlight. I'm cold, but it's sobering my mind.

At least Tara is staying in Sydney and that thought eases the tension that had been coursing through my body so much that I want to laugh, but it doesn't make its way up and out. She's going to be in Sydney, near everything place we know and love so well, and I am going to be miles away. And I am being a fool running away because I can't cope with her telling me off when I acted like a jerk.

I get myself up, sneak back into my own home and rush for a quick shower to become somewhat presentable again.

Tara stares at my face as I come down the stairs.

'Where have you been?'

And here is the Mummy-tone all over again. My fist clench, my teeth grind against each other, but I still my feet.

'I say one thing you don't like and you just take off. Lucky you've got such an easy escape!'

'I went for a swim,' I say as steadily as I can muster.

Tara's eyebrows shoot up. Then she composes her features again. With a sigh she grabs my hand, places it on her shoulder, then walks her painful slow walk towards the common room with me in tow.

She stops by the freezer, grabs a tub of ice cream and two spoons.

She tucks in. 'You are not happy about me staying in Sydney?'

'Of course I am.'

'You are not happy about me moving in with Abigail?'

'You've got to admit that-'

'No, Christian. Moving in with Abigail is a God sent.'

'Because?'

'Because I cannot bare to think about moving back home. I can't bare it. If I do, I'll get stuck, Christian, I don't want to get stuck.'

I nod.

Tara scrutinises me, then looks back down at her spoon. 'How about you? Are you going to move with Mrs Allen?'

'No.'

'Oh! Why not? She sounded so sweet, it would be so nice for her to have you to help her feel safe, and you wouldn't be far from us, and it might be nice for you too, like having a grandmother!'

I shiver and regret getting her involved into my new home search in the first place. She had completely taken over, of course. But I've got to give it to her, she can really work her way through all those sites much more efficiently than I could ever muster. 'Tara. I took the room share by the university.'

'What? But- why?'

'It wouldn't work with Mrs Allen, Tara.'

'Why not?'

'It just wouldn't.'

Tara strikes a pose, her elbow on the high table and her chin between her index and thumb. 'I seem to recall someone promising me to be open.'

I huff. Yes, she's being annoying, but this kind of annoying doesn't make me feel judged. It warms my heart instead of turning it into brittle. This kind of annoying, I can cope with.

'Why wouldn't it work?'

I sigh. 'What if she dies?'

Tara's eyebrows scrunch right up to form one line over her consternated eyes. 'What? Because of you?'

I shake my head at her. 'No. Because of age, you know, the way old people do.'

'Is she really that old?'

'Argh, no, she's not that old, but old enough, and these things happen.'

'A whole lot of things happen, Christian, like dancers breaking their backs, but you can't stop dancing because these things happen!'

Low blow.

'I can't deal with another person dying on me, alright!' I snap.

The shock on her face is so wild that I want to take all my words back. That's what happens when I'm honest with people, they never like what they hear.

My feet want to swivel about and get out of here again, but I want to keep them planted. They don't listen though. Before they can take me completely out I crash my body into the sofa, my legs shaking restlessly. I tighten my hands around my face, hiding within the shadowed circle, and push my feet into the ground until the shaking stops.

Tara says nothing for so long, but at least it gives me a chance to compose myself. Eventually I lean back and glance at her.

She's all pale again. 'I'm sorry.'

'So am I.'

'Can you come back here? I can't get to where you are.'

I sigh and obey. She drags my stool closer to her before I get there.

And I am so thankful that she is not telling me off, or telling me what to do or what to think. I couldn't cope with her going all Mummy-like on me once more, not right now, maybe not ever. She is not saying anything, and right now that is exactly what I need from her. She just sits next to me, hands me my spoon back, and we let the coolness of the ice cream soothe us.

'You're worried she might die whilst you're there,' she says after a while.

I nod.

'You're worried you're gonna get attached.'

Hearing her say it like that, it makes my heart ache, just the thought of it.

'Yeah.' I'm back to my one word responses.

But I could say so much more. Of course I would get attached. Mrs Allen was one of these old ladies you want to tuck under your wing and protect from all the evil things in life. The one time I had met her, she had looked at me with that confident glint in her eyes that told me she had seen enough of it in her life to know how to cope with more very well without anyone's help, but still. Even in a frail body, she had that strength that I so respected in other, strength I wish I had.

Tara glances at me as if she is hearing every word I am thinking. 'I get it.' A small cheeky grin curls the side of her lips. 'But then you might get attached to the guys you're going to flat share with...'

I snort. 'Oh that, I doubt very much.'

Tara's smile disappears before it had a chance to fully grow. 'That doesn't sound much fun.'

'Tara, this is the practical choice, that's all. I'm gonna be barely there anyways, aren't I?'

And I was thinking about work and training. And the Memorial, when the lawyers and insurance people finally got their acts together. But it dawns on me that I will be even less there.

'Tara, how long do you plan to stay with Abigail?'

She looks fluxomed by my question, as if she hasn't thought things through. As if the whole decision was a wild move, not a reflected choice. And maybe it wasn't, in true Tara impetuous style.

'I don't know. However long it works.'

'What will you do when Abs in on tour? She's going to be gone through most of February and March. I've seen their schedule.'

Tara pulled her shoulders down, her neck long and firm. 'I know that. I think it's a good thing.'

'To be by yourself?'

'Yes, I think it's high time.' She gulps but quickly puts some resolve back in the set of her eyes. 'I've always had someone. My parents growing up, and all the people on the farm, in my town. And then there's been Kat, and Ethan, and you, and Grace.'

We both wince a bit.

'And then Abigail, and Ben, and-' Tara glances at me but does not hold my eyes, a gentle blush colouring her cheeks. 'But I'm ready, I need to fly on my own wings. Living alone, I think that'll show me what I'm really made off. Who I really am, and what I'm going to do with myself.'

And it's like a gulf has opened up between us, one so much larger than the miles that will separate where we will live, one much more insurmountable than geographic distance. Like we are drifting away never to be within sight again.

But then her hand is on mine, her eyes shining with excess moisture. 'But you will come and see me when they're away and you're still here? You will, won't you? You'll come and see me often, right?'

I gulp the excess water in my own throat and nod. I want to sneer and joke a 'try to keep me away' with a super cool nothing-can-touch me' tone, but all I manage to utter is heartfelt and genuine. 'Of course.'


	28. Chapter 28 - Spunk

_Previously on Dance Academy Last Chapter: Christian is shocked to find Tara moving out and in with Abigail, of all people. He challenges her choice of flatmate but she lashes back at him the times when Abigail was there for her and he wasn't. Christian rushes out to swim his rage out and comes back to find Tara able to talk with him in a way that lets him open up about his own new home choice._

Spunk

And just like that, in a matter of not even days, but just hours, we are no longer housemates. After three years, three years of living under the same roof. Now I have another week to see through with just Masuyo and me in the massive and empty boarding house. At least Masuyo likes to keep to himself, so I can just wallow as much as I want. Not that it is what I want to do. It's like the least wise options, and yet the one that still get chosen. I don't even train. I don't even go and see Tara, and I am back into ignoring my phone.

But today it's gonna change. Today, I am going to get the rest of my life into motion. Today, I have finally received my contract.

I rush up the stairs of the Academy but pause by the studio. Summer school is in midmorning class mode, no longer taken by Miss Raine. It looks like Patrick is back. His attention is focused on Masuyo, his face as stern as ever but there is a glint in his eyes that I only saw at the end of my tutorials with him, when he had finally forced fed me technique so that I could finally see the point.

It takes for me to watch Masuyo to notice that the glint is different. Masuyo doesn't need to have technique drummed into him. He is a natural, tidy and precise in the extreme, like the needle on a sewing machine, nothing out of line. For a boy so thin and wiry, he is also really strong, his muscles coming into shape as he leaps, higher than I can, stronger than I am.

I grit my teeth so hard it hurts, so I move off.

I find Zach in Miss Raine's old office, the pristine desk now covered in paperwork. I knock.

'Oh, hi Christian, so you did get my text then.'

I nod.

Zach purses his lips. 'It would have been polite to reply.'

And I shrug. Then I shake myself out of my funk. I've been feeling sorry for myself for too long. 'Sorry.' I don't wait to be invited in, I just sit in a chair at the front of the desk. 'So you've got my contract then?'

'Yep, here it is,' he shuffles a few papers, some slide to the floor beside him, 'hum, not here. There, there it is.'

He hands me a thick envelope.

'You've read it?' I ask, toying with the flap that no longer stayed stuck down.

'Rebecca suggested I had a look, but mate, as you can see, I'm already in paperwork heaven. I did try put I got a phone call or something.' He rakes his hair up but it flops straight back down.

'Busy then?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Just a little.'

'Okay, well, I'll take it with me then.'

'Christian, wait, sit down.'

He's got that serious look that terrifies me, the one the doctors had when they said my Mum was on her way out, the one the judge had when he peered at me as he listened to the case made against me, the look that said 'I have some bad news in store'.

Zach turned round and got a folder out of the shelves, the only thing that looked neat in the whole office.

'Do you still want to be involved with the Memorial?'

'Yes, of course!'

'Do you remember how we talked about you becoming more than just a teacher, that you might want to help me manage the place?'

'Erm, yeah.'

'Well I met with the charity committee, because of course there is a committee.'

A dislike for red tape is something I can completely relate to, and that eases my worries a little. Zach is still considering me and yet I hadn't thought about it for ages, so of course guilt is working its way up in my chest instead.

'Sammy's dad is insistent you can be trusted, some of the other members however...'

And this is where it all goes crashing down. I can see that woman with her pooch at my interview to get back into the Academy in third year. Committees are full of these self-absorbed think-they-know-it-all obnoxious snobs. They never give chances to people like me, not really, not without you paying with a little bit your soul first.

'- are worried about delays. They are all in your favour. A manager that would also teach would cover a lot of the duties needed to keep the memorial running -'

Well, that floors me alright. Thankfully I am sitting down. All in favour?

'But it's the insurance people who are fussing about your - erm - police report.'

I can't help it, my forehead hit my hands, my elbows digging in my thighs. I need all the support I can get to stay upright. Is it never ever going to let me be, this past of mine? Will I ever be able to be define by my present and what I make of it? Ever?

'And there's your lack of actual experience and qualifications. I think we can work around the legal stuff, you have been release and excused from what has happened after all, and you have been a model student when you did return in third year, tour aside.' He raises an eyebrow at me. 'I know you are as qualified by experience as any other with the piece of paper that proves they can teach dance, I have no doubts about it, but it would be best if you could get one of those papers all the same.'

'What do you mean?'

'Some people just like things to be regulated. Dance teaching is falling into that administrative trap, which is not all bad considering that not long ago anyone could call themselves ''dance teacher'',' he points at his own chest. 'But sometimes, regulation is a good thing.'

He flips through the back of the file and eases out a wad of leaflets. 'Here are some accredited courses that are meant to be good. There are fees, of course.'

'I'll be fine, I'll do it, no problem. Anything.'

Zach's smile grows to the widest setting. 'Good, I'm glad. I really do need you there.'

And then I get a bit flustered. It's all too much, and also all about me, me, me.

I settle myself back in my seat. 'How are things for you?'

'Everything goes too fast and too slow, there is no medium tempo, and it's driving me crazy. But the board is looking into new headship for here, and I can't wait to return to just being a teacher, I can tell you.'

'It's quite obvious.' I mock, indicating the piles everywhere. Diverting the spotlight is liberating.

'One needs to know his strengths and weaknesses and his place in the world. And leading a school ain't mine.'

'But a memorial?'

'That's unknown, but that I am excited about. Right Christian, I love you and all, but I really have to finish sorting through all these new admissions nightmare, so you'd better go.'

But for a second I am kind of frozen. The three little words ring in my head.

'Come on, seriously,' he laughs as more paper slip through his searching hands. 'Do call if we need to meet over the contract, I would be happy to look through it with you, but right now I really have to do this.'

I pack the envelop in my rucksack and head out. 'Yep, will do. Good luck with all this.' But he barely hears me as he buries himself behind the piles.

I bump into Patrick as I go down the corridor.

He shakes his head. 'You had little experience, and next to no technique, but you did have raw talent, and spunk. He has all the technique and experience, shed load of talent, but I am not sure what we are going to do about spunk,' he says, indicating Masuyo exiting at the far away door.

'You're one of the best teachers I have ever had, Patrick.' Even if I would have never admitted it back then. 'If spunk is what he needs, you'll help him find it.' And I tap his shoulder, like a mate, like an equal.

'I was always a technique boy myself, though.'

And I ponder that for a second. 'From what I remember you must have found your spunk alright.'

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I am not sure why but all these plans, all this talk of spunk, have given me strength. I get my phone out, ignore the flashing signs of full voicemail and texts inbox and just dial.

She picks up on the second ring.

'Hey Tara.'

Nothing. She says nothing.

'I am sorry for the silent treatment. Please don't dish it back.'

'Why not?'

'Because I am stupid and foolish and you're not?'

That brings a giggle at last.

'Okay, Hi Christian, long time no hear.'

'How good are you with legal speak?'

'Legal speak?'

'I've got my contract for the company and I've been told it might be particularly obscure.'

Nothing again.

'Tara?'

'And you want me to help you with it?'

When she says it like that it's kind of obvious how ridiculous I am being. Why would I call her for this? She has no legal background, no interest in it at all for the matter, and Tara might be bright, but no brighter than me. Talk about asking a blind person to lead another one. But maybe all I want is for us to fumble through it together, even if it makes the process longer than it could be. Maybe even because it will.

'Yes.'

'Okay, when do you want to come?'

'Now?'

'Oh, hum, in half an hour?'

At the words, my feet move. 'Why what's up?' Or more like ''what is it that you don't want me to see that is fixable in thirty minutes?''

'Nothing, tidying I guess.'

I slow down. That I can cope with.

'I'll bring some lunch then.'

'Okay, cool.'

I climb the thousands stairs back to the boarding house, get my bike to fetch my favourite burger, times two. I push the bell and get buzzed in without even a reply. I am normally a stairs person but for once I catch the lift. And it's only when I am about to knock on the door that I worry Abigail might be in, but surely she is sweating in class... A class I should be part of. I'll have to make up for it this afternoon. Tara opens up with the brightest smiles and slowest walking frame reverse.

'Come in.'

The flat is brightly lit by the sun streaming through the window. There's a kitchen area with a high breakfast table just on my left, a sofa in the middle of the room, opposite two sets of shelves in each corners, both covered with competing medals, trophies and framed diplomas. They dwarf the small TV set they encase.

A coffee table complete the set, covered in Dance magazines. A typical Dancer's place, complete with pilates ropes and blocks, balance balls and rolled up mats piled up in the last corner.

I turn to find Tara perched on one of the tall stools, like she has done ever since her fall. She taps the other one beside her till I sit on it too, then she turns her screen so that we can both see it. It is filled with tabs, all about legal terms and contract legislation.

I smile, but then she elbows me. 'Come on, give it to me, let's have a look.' There's a weird shine in her eyes, one that says how excited she is at learning something new, but with an unusual matt quality.

She hands me another yellowed spiral-bound booklet, like the one I got, back then, but this one has been signed. Abigail's contract in one hand, mine in the other. I am no longer surprised there is wistfulness in her eyes, for where is hers?

 **Ah, it's good to be back! Have a look at my blogs if you want more Dance Academy related posts:** **.com and .com**


	29. Chapter 29 - All Change

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian has received his contract and seeks Tara's help to decipher it._

All Change

And of course the legal jargon makes my head spin.

Tara glances at me as I rub my forehead. 'Time for a break?'

I check my watch. It's only been half an hour. I lean against the tiny back rest. 'How are things here, living with the demon?'

Tara frowns, but she must have read my smile right for she grins in return. 'It's good, great really. Abigail's very busy so I don't see much of her, and when I do Wes is often here too. '

I am not sure why but that makes me smile and growl at the same time. I am glad they've found happiness. But I'm gutted I haven't, and Tara surely hasn't either. The whole idea of Tara being cooped up in here and having to be the gooseberry, that drives me as crazy awkward as if it were me.

'And she shops for the both of us, which is fine.' A lower lip pouts.

'Fine?'

Tara huffs. 'She's got me on a diet to restrict my calorie intake since I do so little moving. She's looked up this thing about protein and eating green stuff to make the calcium stick or something. I've never eaten so much spinach and Savoy cabbage in my life. She's got it all planned out. You know what she's like with food.'

Oh yes, I know, I was there when she collapsed. That wrote her off for ages too. Her food fixation probably didn't help Kat either. How could she have been so oblivious, she who should have seen all the signs.

'Tara-'

Tara places a hand on my arm, and the very touch sends millions of shivers up through my skin straight to the hollow in my chest. 'No Christian, she's right. I can't overload my back with weight and, if I am going to ever dance again, I need to keep in shape. I'm just not used to thinking about what I eat, and even less how much. But I think my stomach is shrinking alright. It needed to, seeing how much I stuffed myself over Christmas, and since, really.'

And she was probably right, Jan had cooked so many meals, I too had got a bit podgy. Daily training with the company every morning since the Christmas break has seen to that. I might be even leaner than before.

'At first she tried to help me with my rehab, but that really didn't worked.'

A sharp laugh escapes me. 'Might Abigail be too impatient by any chance?'

Tara nods. 'I think she found it even more frustrating than I do, but Ethan arrived two days ago, and he is being great.'

I gulp, my jaw tightening.

Tara is completely oblivious. 'He said he tried to call you, to meet up about your notation. Have you been ignoring him too?'

'Phone problem,' comes out of my mouth in a grumble.

Tara scrutinizes me as if she can see right through my half-lie. 'Hold on here.' And slowly, still so slowly, she arranges her walker and slides up from the stool. It takes her a good minute to get to her room. She hobbles back with her old laptop under her arm. She points to it with her chin when she's back next to me. 'You can have it, if you'd like.'

I stare at her.

'I don't need two.' And she lifts her arm for me to catch it.

'I... I'm not sure I need one at all, Tara.'

'Christian, I never understood how you live without one.'

Holding it like this makes me think of the studying I will have to do, which I doubt will only be practical, and how the Academy's few computers will be out of my reach in just two days. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, it's stupid really, I should have given it to you much earlier. Then I would have had other ways to get to you. Email, social media, you know, in case you have other ''phone problem'' like before.' She obviously tries to come across as friendly, but her smile is far too near a smirk to be genuine.

'Me? On social media? Tara, how badly do you know me?'

'Oh alright, webcam then, just you and me.' Her eyes dart down, her cheeks taking on a warmer colour. 'Erm, I mean, and anyone else you might want to too, of course.'

'What, like Ethan?'

'Yes, Ethan.' Tara rolls her eyes up for good measure, just to show me how silly I am being. 'And Ben, and Grace.' She pauses for a second. 'Kat even.' It's like the redness gets flushed out by a wave of bleach, Tara suddenly looks ghostly white again.

I'm up and right beside her, my hand on her shoulder. 'Tara, are you alright? Are you in pain?'

'No- no, I'm alright.' Her gaze focus on the screen in front of her and she picks my contract back up as if our break time is over.

'Tara, what's up with Kat?'

'Nothing,' she snaps. 'Well, surely you know.'

I rack my brain for any information I should have but I still haven't got a clue. 'I have no idea what you are going on about. Phone problems, remember, nobody got through.'

Tara's shoulders relax a bit at that, her eyes glancing at me as if she's checking for truthfulness.

'She's got a part for a sitcom that's being trialled. She's been pretty busy.'

'That's good.'

Tara turns more fully, her gaze still measuring me up on the truthfulness scale.

'That's what she wanted, right? So that's good.'

Tara nods. I've passed the test. It's so easy when there's absolutely nothing to hide. But why is she so on guard? Kat and I, been there, done that. It's over, so over, the way Tara and I never were. Not until she decided it was. But not for me, not in a million years.

And yet, was Tara being jealous? Could she really be? A warmth rises through my stomach and fills my chest.

'What?' she asks as if my staring affronts her.

'Nothing.'

'So, are we going to carry on with this?'

I stare at the contract. There's nothing I want to avoid more than wordiness right now.

'Can I take a rain check on this. My brain's fried up already. Maybe I could come back tomorrow, after my shift at the pool?'

'What time?'

'Seven. I'll bring dinner. Maybe even something Abigail would approve of? And we can do some rehab then too, if you'd like.'

Tara beams. 'That all sounds great. Ethan's coming in the morning, so I will only have one to do by myself.'

I should be pleased. I am not in the slightest. But maybe if she is jealous of me potentially still liking Kat, doesn't that mean I have nothing to worry about Ethan being there?

Tara slides the contracts under her laptop. 'Leave this with me. I have too many hours to fill. Your brain may be fried but mine is disintegrating from lack of use. Please?'

She doesn't have to ask twice, I have no desire to look at it again today.

'Okay, tomorrow, seven.'

She gets up at the same time as I do, this time frame-free, and she wraps her arms around my neck. 'It's so good to see you again, Christian,' she says, her breath brushing against the shortest hair at the back of my neck, sending the shivers down a different path.

I snake my arms slowly around her waist, her brace hard under my touch. 'I'm sorry I haven't been around. I'll fulfil my promise, Tara. If you want me to, I'll come and see you as often as I can.'

Tara detaches herself, her eyes heavy with guardedness. And I deserve it, I haven't been great at keeping to my words with her, not ever in the last three years. This is about to change.

I ride home to more noise and mess from students coming back early from vacation. They all look at me as if I'm weird and out of place, which I guess I am.

'Christian? What are you doing here? The rumors is that you're in the company and the other that you're not! Are you actually really coming back to the Academy? ' Lulu asks with her typical haughty front.

'No way. I'm packing today, out of your sight the next.'

Her chin does a miniature version of a nod. 'You're cutting it fine, others might need your room.'

'Your roommate's kicked you out then?'

Her whole face scrunches up. 'Of course not-'

But I don't stay to hear anymore. I rush up the stairs and close the door firmly behind me.

And I can't take another step. The room is as it has been for a month now, half empty. More than half-empty. If you take away my skateboard, my surfboard and my guitar I have next to nothing. Just a few clothes that have seen better days and a handful of books.

I get the holdall that got me through third year tour and the extra one I got from a bargain shop down by the university. I put both on either side of the cupboard and wrench it open.

I dump a set of workout clothes, a clean towel, a fresh pair of jeans and T-shirt and bundle them on the bed for tomorrow. Then I just slide my hands under and over piles and fill the bags' gaping mouths without paying much attention to what's going in.

There goes underpants, socks, shorts and trousers. There goes extra sheets the Academy actually bought for me. All my dance tights, and belts, which I have never been able to put on without thinking of Sammy, and a few white T-shirts, a fraction left of the hundreds we boys go through in our three years of sweating at the Academy.

I go for my T-shirts, the ones that make me me, my token gesture at identity. In goes the pile, but then, crumpled at the back, lies one last top. And I just freeze there, facing a grey skull smirking at me. The one I'd worn at parties, the first one when Tara was so upset with me for the changing room debacle. And the one when I kissed Kat only to run after Tara just to end up getting beaten up. The T-shirt I wore so often when Sammy and I started hanging out together, becoming mates. The one I danced in saying 'this is me, judge me on my present, not my past'. The one I crash my bike to get out of audition. My 'I'm bold' T-shirt. My brainless one.

I glance from bag to bin, but I don't want to go back there. I roll it in a tight ball and toss it in the trash.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I shove whatever other article of clothing reside within the shelf, even the silky feel of my one and only suit jacket doesn't slow me down as I stuff the whole lot in.

I empty the content of my desk. I'm about to throw all the folders in the bin but a thought stops me. Will I need these anatomy notes? The characters and origins of classical ballets? I scoff as they all follow the skull T-shirt. None of that I won't find on the marvel that is the internet. The only thing that makes it into the bags are the pens and note pads.

I might have very little, but there won't be enough space for my pillow and duvet. I'll have to deal with that later. I scoop my toiletries up and dump them into the wash bag. And there I stand, with everything gutted out. And yet there seems to still be something at the very far corner of the cupboard. I reach out, my face as far away from the filled trash bag lurking there. With one eye I glance at the content.

I gasp, the air not making it past the middle of my throat, and stumble back to the bed. I shake the content all over it. My clothes. All the ones I didn't take with me when I ran away at the end of second year. All my vest tops, my T-shirts.

I sink down on the bed, unfolding the black one, with it still bright blue bird at the front. I wore that one when Tara told me 'just friends', but also when she asked me to the farm for the holidays. Just friends, yeah, right! Didn't I also wore it when I wanted to talk to her, then had to tell her about Sammy instead?

My head fills up with dizziness, as if my breath is still not going down the way it should. I suddenly hate this piece of clothing. With all the hatred I can muster, I flung it to the bin.

But the next isn't much better. My red Royal Fraud one. The first time I tried to kiss her, the time when she dissed me in front of Ethan. Bloody hell yes we had kissed and made up! It's looking all pale and washed out now, from too much wear, too much. In it goes, topping the pile in the bin of stuff I do not want to cope with anymore.

I'm about to throw the whole thing back in the bag and into the trash, but I still unfold the next one, like I am a sucker for pain or something. But this one is good, so good air rushes out my lungs, relaxing my chest and my jaw that had been so tight.

Fuente. The beach, kissing Tara, proper. Okay, she then fell and hurt her knee. But still. That T-shirt will forever be the first real kiss one. I gently fold it over again and carefully tuck it in the smallest bag.

Filled with some weird courage, I scan through the rest. But I couldn't care less. I don't need these. I have outgrown them, if not in size then at least in who I am. Let's be done with the past. I am ready for change.


	30. Chapter 30 - Displaced

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: After three years, three, Christian finally has to give up the place that has been his home and shelter._

Displaced

That's it, I'm done. The last bits of my three years here, all packed in bags, my skateboard topping the pile. But what the heck am I going to do with my surfboard?

I rub my thumb against it, lightly brushing over my mum's name. It was a weird thing Raf, my ''dad'', did there, putting her name in graffiti-like writing, a good thing. Maybe the only good thing he's ever done to me, beside giving me my bike, that is, and finally going to see me dance.

Eventually I stop caressing it and navigate the board's length through the door. I nearly decapitate Remi at the bottom of the stairs.

'Hey, watch out!' he cries, his arms up to protect his face.

'Sorry,' I just about mumble, ignoring him in every other way.

'Cool board. Can I join you?'

I size him up. In the two years we have shared at the Academy he has never made any efforts to be friendly with me, rather quite the opposite if you count how much he and Lulu made Kat suffer. I'm about to get all that anger into a stare, but then I realise how stupid it would be. What is he to me anyway? Nothing.

'I'm not going, this baby is going into storage for a while.' No use saying ''maybe another time''. It might be polite, but it also would be a lie. 'If surfing is what you want to do, head up to the south part of Bondi, you can hire boards from the schools.'

And I leave him with that.

Checking around me as if I'm trying to be a spy, I get to the Academy's stock room. The stinky smell of sweaty feet assault me as I open the door. When you think Abigail and Sammy sneaked here, of all places, to smooch!

I rip lengths of plastic off some of the storage boxes to turn my board into a mummy. With the paper, pen and sticky tape I brought with me I secure it all in place, writing ''Property of Zach Andrews'' in big bold letters. And then I add my number to it, just in case. I wedge it between a gap in the shelves and pray to whichever god might hear that it stays safely waiting for me.

With my shoulders tight and hunched, I do the first run, my largest hold-all hooked on my back. I dump it on what will be my bed for the foreseeable future. I leave it there and trudge back, my back remaining all curved up as if I'm still laden.

I assume my shift at the pool in the most brain dead way possible without putting any one at risk. It's such a mind numbing job. One that I have coped with thus far but I am not sure for how much longer. And today the sky is grey, the water looks dull, the pool is the emptiest it has been all summer. It's as if the clouds are leaching out all the colours, sucking up all the noise, everything is just blah.

It's not much better back at the boarding house. I just can't settle down. All I should to do is sleep, soak up some energy for tomorrow when I'll have to face Rebecca. I can already picture the squinty eyes she's bound to use to make me feel even worst about missing training this morning. I am really going to have to understand that contract through and through, know my rights, and my obligations. Even just the word makes me shiver with distaste.

I toss and turn, I burrow myself under the sheets, but to no avail.

So I get up. Downstairs the common room that used to be ours is filled with the new Third Years.

Remi nods at me, Lulu glares. I hover.

I can't face my empty room, I can't bare staying with these imposters, and I have no will to go out and about. Instead I just stare: a bunch of giggling girls hunched over a laptop at the high table that only days ago was Tara's domain, the armchair where Kat always slumped in is occupied by a tall guy whose name escapes me, if I ever knew it at all. The pool table is in use, the TV is on and blaring some run-of-the mill pop.

This is the place where we hung out, the place that was our own, but it is now like a foreign land where little odd alien me is not welcomed. And then a pizza delivery somehow finds its way to the low table, and everyone scoots over. Remi, the greedy bastard, grabs three slices. On his way back to the kitchen, he hands me one. Masukio slips past and pushes me down till I'm perched on the sofa's armrest.

The summer vacation reminiscing begins, everyone trying to up the other with their antics, and it all suddenly feels so mundane and familiar that it brings the shadow of a smile to my lips. Detached from everything, I let my mind go numb.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Before I know it, it's morning again. I pack the last few remaining bits of mine, undo the bed and rush off to the Company. I dread facing Rebecca, but she actually ignores me, and that pisses me off even more.

I train. I do my shift, the time stretching and slipping away in one long dull sweep of greyness.

Eventually I have to head home to leave. But it is impossible. Impossible. I have my rucksack on my back, my red hold-all filled to the brim in my hand, my duvet and pillow rolled up and sausaged as tight as I could into a bag, and I can't move.

I'm staring at my room, not even the one that means that much to me, Third Year went by in a blur really, but still. I will miss it. My new pad is half the size, with a guy I will probably hardly ever see, and there is no common room, just a tiny shared kitchenette. There will be no social life for me there, just a bed to sleep in.

I go and tie up all my stuff to my bike then come back, jiggling my keys in my hand as I make a long detour via the shower room, the laundry, the common rooms in each of the adjoining three houses that make up the whole of the boarding house. I am not sure how I am feeling, but it's a mixture of both being heavy, but also weightless. Empty, like a useless thick stone bowl that contains nothing at all.

This has been my home, but it was never mine. I just had the chance to inhabit it for three years. Three years that brought me both turmoil and joy, but through it all, this place, and the people within it, had been my anchor. I hated it at first, the way I had little choice but to be there. And then there ahd been Sammy, my best mate after all, and then the others, my new crew. It had become my home. Now I'm kind of hating it again for kicking me out, for being done with me, not that it has any say in who stays and who goes.

I go pass all the rooms that I have known. Grace's red one, Abigail's in all its pink glory, its new inhabitants looking as clueless as she was shrewd. I go down to Oliver's weird little cellar on the basement. I peer through the windows of every room, most of them I never even noticed despite all the time I spent there. It's amazing how, over the years, The Academy has let the students do what they wanted with the walls, to let them express themselves, who they are. It had taken ages for me to paint my wave in Second Year. It is still there, peeking out from somebody's else belongings, Tara's presence swept away by the new boys now in there. That's all that's going to be left of me. How long will it stay? I end my tour back to this last room that has been mine this year.

I hadn't bothered to make any mark there. But all the walls, all of them, might as well be blank and bare now, because all I see is gloom.

So I gulp all the scratchy sadness down my throat and force it to stay there to be digested. I ride to The Academy to hand my key back to the receptionist.

'Wait, I'm sure there's paperwork to sign!' she calls after me, but I'm already gone.

Even the wind of the ride doesn't shed the pressure dragging in my head, in my heart.

The heaviness compounds with every step up, four flights, eighty-four stairs.

For a second I think I've lost my key. I'm both kind of panicked and relieved, which is crazy, as I tap all my pockets, check my bags, till I find it at the bottom of my rucksack's front pocket. Panic and relief flee as the thick fog drops back down on me.

I turn the key in the lock, but it catches. I take it out to try again. The same. I take a deep breath to stop myself from kicking the door open. Then I try again. It finally works.

Three meters long corridor, four doors on each side, one open door frame at the end where the cooker, fridge and one pantry-like cupboard pretend to be a kitchen. The tiny bathroom takes up the last metre square available beside it. All the other doors are the same as mine, hiding the same two beds on either side of two identical desks facing each other, a build-in cupboard crowding the last wall. My dirty gritty grey place.

I dump the bedding on the bed, shove my hold-alls under the spring base and head right back out.

Seven-thirty.

I'm late.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I get to Tara's with a full hour's delay. When I buzz she sighs my name with a mix of relief and exasperation, and both warm me up no end.

I have the shopping bag right in front of me as a peace offering which melts her warning glare into a cheeky-eyes smile. But it doesn't last.

'Christian, are you- Are you alright?'

I nod, forcing a nonchalant shrug. 'Course I am.'

'You don't look it.'

And I don't mean to tell her, it's none of her business really, and I don't want her pity, even less her worry. I want her to know I am all fine, all good, honky-dory, but the words just leach out. 'I've moved out.'

'Oh.'

That sadness and concern on her face is so wrong. I'm supposed to be here for her, so snap out of your misery train, Cheds, and get a grip.

I dump the food on the counter. 'Food or rehab first?'

Tara gives me that probing look of hers that rubs me the wrong way. She breathes as if she's about to say something, but just exhales out instead, turning her back to me. 'You cook, I do the rehab, I'm starving.'

'Then maybe you should eat first.'

'No, empty stomach's best. As you can gather my workout doesn't require much fuel.' She forces a little laugh that is so fake it is depressing me all over again.

I follow her to the corner of the room and unroll a mat. 'Your folder?'

Tara blushes. 'In my room.'

I don't hesitate. I don't care what might be embarrassing her, it's just a room, I've seen Tara's private spaces at the Academy and in the Outback plenty time before. And yes, her room has much pink and fluffy stuff, the same stripy duvet, Sir Joshua in prime place on her single bed, as the rest. The headboard is surrounded by the same photos she had at the Academy, it's like she's moved the room with her, minus Grace's or Abigail's stuff. And I love it. it's not my room, I shouldn't care at all, but I am so relieved that she's the same, just the same, where ever she is.

She is still in the process of lying down when I return. But once she is down, it's clear things are going well. Whatever lack of range she had suffered, this second surgery seems to have cleared it, her leg is right up. 'Wow, looking good.'

Tara giggles, her cheeks flushing anew. 'I didn't think I ever could, I-' The giggles turn to gentle sob, a stray tear running down her cheek. As she lets it be, so do I. 'It's giving me hope, you know.'

I nod, I know exactly what she means.


	31. Chapter 31 - Signature Move

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian suffered the heartache of leaving a place he has loved to move into one he never will. But there is hope on the horizon, Tara's rehab is going well, professionally things are moving on... That has got to count for something, right?_

Signature Move

For some reason I fall into new patterns as if they've been mine for months instead of days.

I ride my bike across Sydney, to train, to work my shift at the pool, to visit Tara, just to end up riding all the way back to square one. I'm crisscrossing all over the place like an agitated bishop on a chess board.

But eyes are on me.

Zach keeps asking which qualifying course I have chosen. Rebecca insists to have my contract, signed, by the end of the week. Abigail and Ollie try to be friendlier but still make me feel like a cheat. My flatmates, who seem to go about their lives like passing ships, do not treat me with the same obliviousness, as if my lack of student ID rattles them off. And Tara welcomes me with light in her smile, but caution in her eyes.

I have no time to surf, nor to skate. I don't even run. My only outlet is morning class and that's somehow not enough. It's exhausting, shatteringly demanding, and yet it does little to ease the pressure that just builds up to dangerous levels. It makes me snappy and haughty, all the things I thought I had left behind.

I try to shake the tension off as I climb Tara's steps. I pause on the landing, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to find some kind of serenity, but Tara opens the door before I get to knock. 'What are you doing out there?' she asks. 'I heard you coming up the stairs ages ago.'

I put on a stiff smile and walk in.

'What's up?' she asks again.

I take a seat at the high table, on the opposite side from her opened-up laptop. 'It's all a bit much,' I barely grumble.

'What is?'

'The decisions,' I nearly snap.

Tara tilts a chin down, looking at me as if she's looking over glasses.

That teacher-like behaviour rattles me no end. 'I'm here for my contract.'

'I've been wondering when you would ask for it.' Tara gets up and walks carefully across to her room, still using her walker. Then she brings back the yellow booklet, making it slide on the table towards me.

'Got a pen?'

Her eyebrows shoot up. 'Aren't you going to finish reading it first?'

'I asked Rebecca to see her copy yesterday. It's just as she explained it: no catches, no nasty surprises.'

'Is that what you expected?'

'Not really.' But my tone says ''of course''.

Tara swivels completely on her stool to reach out for a pot on the kitchen counter. 'Black or blue?'

I shrug. 'Does it matter?'

Tara seems to process this for a bit. 'I guess not, but have this one, the ink is very nice and smooth.'

She would think of those things: signing with a nice pen, with a favourite colour. She would have a party around signing this, a whole little set up to make it ''Tara Perfect''.

I don't want to be flippant but, as I take it from her, I am torn between scrawling my signature on it, to show that it's no big deal, and making it very neat and nice, to respect what is important to her.

The nib hovers over the paper.

Tara's breath catches, like she suddenly fears I will not sign it at all.

But the importance of what I am about to do suddenly falls on me, like the shadow of a tower looming high.

This is not a game.

Neither is it like signing my life away. It's just for the next few months.

But this is what will make me a dancer, a professional.

Someone who will then have to follow the rules, do what I am told, dance how others view my role. And I will have to do it again and again for more than two months, one here at home, but also all over Australia. And it won't be Third Year Tour fun, a whole lot of laughter and games. It's going to be tough, exhausting, probably so repetitive that the pain will stop being bearable. And it will take me thousands of miles away from Tara.

I stare at her for a second, her eyes unreadable as she concentrates on mine. What does she see in them? I really don't know.

But this is more than what she wishes for me. This is what I want for myself. This is going to be my taster. A trial of strength and resolve. My opportunity to become who I want to be, whom I am capable of being. My chance to come back and be a man who will have the guts to say ''I know what I want'' and to go get it.

I stare at the dotted line in front of me, the hesitation still there and so different from the room-share paperwork that I had signed in a blink. How much more monumental is this?

I put the pen to paper, the ink drying in a smooth row a letters. Christian Reed. Here I am, a freelance member of the Company. A professional dancer.

A squeaky elongated 'iii' comes out of Tara as she rushes around the table to get to me. She pulls me right off the stool.

I should feel like a knight ready to face obstacles in bold moves, but I've had enough exposure to the world of dance to realise I might end up just being a pawn.

'It's only freelance, Tara. It's only for a few months,' I say as I wrap my arms around her, my hands tightening on the plastic brace, my nose pushing deep within her hair, making the most of it..

'Whatever, Christian. I'm so happy for you.' She beams at me. 'Don't get me wrong, I fully expect you will hate probably half of it, but something tells me the other half will be more than worth it.'

She might be just right about that, but I can't think of that right now. That twinkling in her eyes, I love it so much I can't bear to see it end, so I plough on.

'As we are delving into fateful decisions, shall I now show you the course I'm going to do?'

'Course?'

'For the Memorial, so that I can teach there, legally so.'

'Wow, yes, show me.'

She turns the laptop towards us and opens a new tab. 'I presume it's on here.'

'Of course.'

I quickly type up the keywords and press enter. Like the key's symbol, I am one square up, two across, bold move, knight style.

As we pour over the site, I show her why I chose the intense one week one over the scattered over weeks, 'to fit with work.'

'And with the Company.'

'Well, Rebecca has booked me with a personal trainer to keep me in shape, as they're off touring, but he will just have to do without me for that week.'

'Christian...'

She's got those eyes now, the ones that warn of being told off. I am having none of it. 'Tara, how is it going to be for you, when Abigail is away?'

'Christian,' she says in an even more patronising tone, 'she is barely here as it is. She spends most nights at Wes's place. But you know,' she adds, 'I'm going to be pretty busy myself.'

I can feel my eyes scrunch up in surprise. She smiles as if that's exactly the reaction she had expected from me.

'Masukio and I talked about a beginning-of-year get-to-know-each-other party. He claims he wants nothing to do with it, but I think it's just because he is so shy. Still, I'm getting it all sorted for him, and no one will be the wiser.'

A chortle escapes me as I shake my head. 'You and parties.'

'Yes, me and parties.' She shines with excitement. 'And I'm thinking about keeping all my information stored up, and maybe even available to others, you know, like on a site or something.'

'That... that sounds great.'

'Do you want to have a look?' She glances at me with a finger on the mouse pad.

'You've started already?'

I shouldn't be so surprised. Tara doesn't dilly dally. She doesn't sit on her hands pondering and wondering and being freaked at making decisions. Tara goes for what she wants, no holding back, no undue self-preservation, the queen of the board, all moves allowed.

Tara nods and opens up one of the previous tabs. It looks like a blog, with the current section showing a list of party venues. Tara seems to have done her own ratings, with comments like ''says it can accommodate 60, but to be honest that should probably state 40 maximum''. She's trying very hard to be respectful, but without suppressing the truth. It will be a tough strategy to stick to, one that I doubt she will manage to maintain for long.

There's a sudden leap in my stomach, as if I'm glad at the idea that she might fail. I hate myself for it, for wanting her to be stuck where she is, stuck with needing others, with needing me.

'That looks good,' I admit.

'Yes? You think so?' She's nodding excitedly as if her double dose of enthusiasm can bring at least a little bit out of me.

'It's not exactly my area of expertise, but yes, it does look good.'

Tara gives me a side glance, full of wistfulness.

'What?'

'You never told me how you got the snow machine.'

My breath inches its way in. It's not just the memory of this fateful party when I got so jealous and uptight that I walked off on her that's getting to me. It's the whole ''look, I am all fine, getting into parties, life moves on, I have new plans, and I have no need for you in there, really''. Well, apart from maybe knowing how you managed to get that elusive snow machine. A stupid snow machine!

I shrug, like there is no threat, like the game is all open to me, and I have all the moves planed. Hopefully it will hide how bloody lost and clueless I feel right now. 'It was no big deal, I just shrewdly convinced the people you had contacted to make sure you had it, that's all.'

Tara scrunches her eyebrows at me. 'But-'

'Tara, if you're going to go into this kind of business, you'll have to be a little less nice and a little more tenacious.'

Her face falls, completely off, from being at the height of excitement to being emptied out of any shred of positivity, her arms going limp at her side, her body shifting as if she is about to retreat. But that's the last thing I want her to do.

'Ah, don't listen to me, Tara,' I scramble. 'Everyone loved your parties. You shouldn't change, we should all be a lot more like you.'

But I have failed to convince her.

'You don't think I've got what it takes, do you?' she says inching closer to me so that I have to look up to keep eye contact. Not that I really want to do that. She is figuratively kicking me to pieces with her stare. 'Is that what you call fighting my corner, having my back, shooting me down the minute I try to do something I like, something I'm good at!'

'That's not what I meant, Tara. I just told you. Your parties are great.'

Tara ignores me, ice queen style as she snaps her screen down.

'So, Masukio's party,' I scramble for an alternative move, anything to get me out of this stalemate. 'What's the theme?'

'You have your contract, what do you need from me now?' She takes one more threatening step closer.

'Nothing, I-'

'Because Kat and Ethan are coming soon and I'm going to get dinner ready.'

Ah, here's the Lady summoning her night and rook for protection. I'm kicking myself now. She is throwing me out when the last thing I want is for her to have more cosy time with Ethan. Even in my head his name sounds like a grudge.

'Oh, that's nice,' I try, as casually as I can muster. 'Can I stay?'

Tara surveys my every move and reaction from on high.

'To catch up, you know.'

Tara huffs and heads for the fridge, leaving her walker behind. I settle to help her out, in complete and utter silence. More than once she barges into me as she gets more stuff from the cupboards.

If this were a chess game, it would be over. She has just written me off and claimed a righteous chess-mate, my lousy attempt at knighthood thrown aside, left to be the sour looser.


	32. Chapter 32 - Flexible

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian is tired of having to be everywhere and everyone, but this is just the beginning._

Flexible

I wipe the sweat off my brow with the front of my vest. I'm so glad I no longer have to comply with the Academy's white T-shirt uniform. These sweaty armpits stains were impossible to get rid off. We boys had to just keep on getting new tops. But not here. Here we wear what we want, and boy does that tell you a lot about people.

Everything goes. There's Kevin, the soloist who is always at the front and wears rainbow pants, ones that look like full length leg warmers, all scrunched up and neon bright like Vegas lights. And on the other end of the spectrum we have Matthew, who stands right at the front too so you can't miss any of him, whose favourite attire is the clingiest nude tights that make him look completely stark naked below the waist. Not a sight any of us really want to have.

As for me, it's all black, vest and tights. I don't dare go for my favoured loose fitting. Xavier would probably make me take them off, even if that meant taking class in my dance belt. Well, that would give Matthew and his skin tights a run for his money at least.

I turn my back on them all and head for my pile of mess in the far corner. There I stretch my calves a bit, my continual sore spot that three years of dancing at the Academy has barely rendered more flexible.

'Christian?' Wes calls from the door. 'Come,' he beckons and leaves, fully expecting me to follow.

I scoop all my stuff in my rucksack and rush after him. He hovers by the door of one of the smaller rehearsal studios. I have no clue as to what he wants, but he looks like he means business. Stress sweat adds itself to my already sodden brow and shoulders. I am one sticky mess and should already be in the shower.

'I want to run through one of your piece,' Wes says as I come in.

'What? But you guys are off touring next week...'

'I'm not, and neither are you.'

'But I've got my shift at the pool to get to, like now.'

'And,' says a voice from the balcony. Rebecca stands there with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, 'now that you have signed your contract, it will take precedence over other engagements.'

'But-'

Rebecca turns away. 'No but.'

'Call the pool if you want, it shouldn't take much longer than half an hour at most. I just want to clarify something-'

It's his turn to be cut off as Mr Xavier comes in, followed closely by a tall skinny and completely bold man, then a grey haired woman carrying a massive binder. Just when I think the procession is over that in comes Kevin of the rainbow pants, Matthew of the naked tights and, finally, Ollie. Mr Xavier and the bold guy stand by the stereo as the old lady takes a sit and perches her binder over her lap, pen poised for action. The other blokes seem to be taking places on the floor.

'What's that about?' I ask Wes pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the collected assemble.

'There are always other dancers joining practices and rehearsals, to-'

'Understudy,' I complete before he can.

'To train,' he corrects.

Yeah, right, as if I'm gonna buy that.

'To stay sharp,' says Rainbow Pants.

'And to understudy if needed, don't kid yourself,' adds Naked Butt with a smirk.

The ambitious driven ones, not my crowd, at all. I stare at Ollie who is barely looking at me. Where does he stand with that?

'I'm back of the corps, mate, I need at least something to keep me sane.'

But there is a tightness in his eyes that reminds me of how pissed off he had been to miss out on his Mercutio Gala solo and I had to be his understudy.

I have nothing to say to all that. What can I do? Throw a hissy fit to get them all out, I think not. So I just grab my stuff, dump it dead centre at the back of the floor and return to my spot, front stage. Move off fancy pants. 'Let's do this.'

It takes roughly two seconds for my cockiness to fire back. Wes is speed talking at me as if that would ever be enough for me to process the words into movement. At the Academy we always had videos to watch, or at least demonstrations. How the heck am I supposed to make any sense of any of this? He lost me after the first ''strut down stage, pause, and then it's a frappe en dedans and ... and ...'' What?

And I dared complain about the complexity of Ethan's notation? My goodness, I'd choose that over this word onslaught any time. It's like when Tara is on a roll and she's completely unaware that the other person has long quit listening. Saying that, she doesn't do that so much anymore.

Wes stares at me.

Shit. I'm supposed to be learning a new choreography and I'm daydreaming instead.

'Could you show me that?' I ask. But before Wes has even got time to let his huff out Mr Naked Butt is right beside me and executing what must be the whole section of moves.

'Yes, that,' Wes nods, ' But sharper on the battement, more panache.'

Suddenly I'm fully aware of the presence of all the tiny hairs at the back of my neck, as if a cold wind has just hit me from behind. That guy is not here to understudy, he's here to steal.

I cross my arms, Rebecca style. 'Once more then,' I just about order him as if I were the rehearser, not the one who's not getting it.

The grin on his face grows. And off he goes again, Kevin joining him on the other side.

I look like an idiot just standing there, but at least it pays off. Now I know what I'm supposed to do.

'The music?' I ask Wes.

'That's for later, moves first.'

I frown. No music? They expect me to learn a new role in what, an immersive experience, as Sammy called it? Not my style. Music? That's what talks to me, what tells me the story line, the mood, what gets me out of being me and into someone else.

'Njorki is a very dual role, we never know where we stand with him, so half of the time you'll dance against the music, not with it, double that with the fact that...'

I close my eyes and give up on listening. This makes no sense to me what-so-ever. So instead I try to visualise what the other guys have just danced, to get a rhythm behind the moves, a pattern, a meaning. ''Sharper'' he had said, okay, that I can do.

I give it a go.

'That frappé grand battement, it needs a lot more height, doesn't it?' the bold man asks with a distinct English accent.

Wes nods, the grey haired lady behind him scratching furiously as she makes notes.

I do it again.

'Faster. Higher, much higher,' the bold guy says again, his eyebrows tightening into a straight line.

That's when Matthew closes in on me and dances it. 'Like this you mean?'

'Yes, like that, whoosh.'

My fists tighten, my breath catches. If only we were in my hood right now, if only... Yeah, go on, show off, you swine.

I swallow hard, straighten my back and turn to Wes. 'Maybe it could...'

'Already thinking of changing the choreography, are you?' the bold man asks, his eyebrow separating again into two affronted pointed shapes. No doubt my reputation has preceded our first meeting.

'No, I-'

'Indeed. So, as I said, more speed, more height, it needs to swoosh,' he swings his scrawny arm to the side in a wide arc, air escaping loudly from his lips. 'Swoosh.'

Well, that makes it all so much clearer. And feasible. Not.

'Is that for both this first movement or for the twelfth too?' The grey haired lady asks in a voice that sounds so much younger than she looks.

Wes turns to her. 'First, yes, twelfth will be more dramatic, we'll come to that.'

'Yes, twelve is a different idea altogether.'

And to be honest, that's when I just want to walk out. They are all speaking a language of which I can understand individual words, but not how they are placed together. And I just can't be arsed. This is my first practice, and there's a move I can't do within the first ten seconds, and it will be coming up again and will probably be even worse. Whatever Rebecca saw in me, when she hired me for this, she must have been on one very deluded trip. One I won't be party to, thank you very much.

But I'm fed up with running. I'm fed up with the escape routes, with the not trying harder, with the not trusting that, actually, I can do it, and if not straight away, then at some point, and that ''at some point'' needs to be good enough till I get there. I need to stick, I need to root down and stay.

Easier said than done. Everything is trying to pull me out: the call of the open door, the nods from the two dancers who might be trying to get my place, the embarrassed way Ollie is avoiding to look at me, as if he is tainted by association. And then there's the onslaught of words pushing me out, as Wes and the bold guy discuss minor detail to their 'swoosh' and 'bam', all that for a leg swinging up and back down. It's one of those times when dancing seems so pernickety and irrelevant. It would be so sweet, so calm, to just exit, to shut them up simply by turning my back on them, going to collect my stuff, and walk out.

But I grind my teeth. I curl my toes as if the nails could act as roots, as if tensing my body, sticking my arms by my side, my legs together, could ground me like an unmoveable tree.

But the continuous flow of words still crawl on me. Staying still won't work. That's just not who I am. I might not want to run away anymore, but I can't just stand still either, waiting for the ants to do what? Leave me alone? I won't run out, but I will shake them off.

So I dance.

I retrace those strutting steps, those pauses, as if my character both wants to be invisible and still be acknowledged. That sudden awareness emboldens me. I might be about to get it. Two more struts and strike the pose.

And here it comes. Yes, it won't be as high as they want, but I will make it sharper. Flexibility is not my gift, but sharpness is. I might not comprehend why Rebecca chose me, but I might as well trust her judgment that I will be right for this.

I force that in my mind, again and again, as Wes's eyes grow tighter and tighter around the corners as we run through the practices. Even the bold guy is leaving me to it.

As I move, I get to grow around this weird character I actually know nothing about, to feel the way the steps go from dainty to the trickiest moves and back again.

I might have been training with the company every morning for longer than I care to think, but I am getting the inkling that those morning sessions are barely warm ups. An hour later of this, and I am not sure whether it's my brain or my body that is the most fried.

At least Ollie is looking nearly as tired as I am. Rainbow Pants throws me a snide smile as I wipe off more sweat and he just looks about himself as if he has just been on a nice walk in the countryside, but he is not fooling me, he is as much covered in sweat as the rest of us.

I check the clock and rush to my stuff. All I want to do is collapse into an ice bath and drift, but instead I have to run off and try to be forgiven for both being late and not having called.

I follow Wes, the bold guy and grey haired lady out, but an arm shots out to block my path.

'Not so fast, Mr Reed.'

I stare as Mr Xavier now uses his own body to barricade the way out.

'Barre, all of you,' he says to the middle of the room.

'But-' I start to say, then I realise the strange echo behind me is actually three other voices that have joined mine.

'Barre,' he repeats, pointing his finger to the back of the room.

'Your name?' he asks me in a low voice, 'it means that weedy river plant, 'un roseau', right?'

I have no clue what he is going on about, but yes, reed, yes, that's also that stick thin water plant. I just nod once.

'There's a story, you know, about a tree mocking the reed for being so weak looking when it stood so high above it. But then a terrible wind blew, testing their strengths. The tree eventually snapped when the reed just bent and waited for the wind to stop. The reed's strength is in its flexibility. Looks to me like you have snapped too many times and now you might want to get yourself a little bit more bendability.' He raised his eyebrow meaningfully at me and turned around, raising his voice to boom across the room. 'Fifty grand battement, devant, de coté et derrière, fifty frappés, switch sides, then fifty mermaid lifts and all the hips and adds stretches. Repeat the set till I say stop. Go.'

With a collective huff we all go to the barre. Matthew and Kevin must be regretting their choices now. They could be having lunch, but no, instead they have do to repeat exercises that neither of them need; if they got any more flexible they could join the circus's freak shows. But I need them, and somehow they've lumbered themselves to my fate today.

So off we go, my legs never hitting as high as even Ollie's one. Of course I try to cheat, but the second I do Mr Xavier is on my case realigning my hips. When you think how I reacted when Patrick first tried to do that. How things move on.

Now battements, we do plenty enough in morning class, but it's the repetition that kills. Ten? no problem. Twenty, still bearable, by thirty the muscles really tire, by forty the pain begins, by fifty it's agony, or at least for me. But that's nothing compared with the stretches. There's a reason those are my weakest point. I hate them. You just sit, stand or lie there for ages pulling, pushing, or being pulled, and pushed whilst your antagonist muscles try to get you back into a ''normal'' position and your whole body screams: I AM NOT MEANT TO DO THIS!

And as always when I try my hardest to shut them up I get a glimpse of myself, my legs spread eagle, my groin in full display, and I want to laugh, and it doesn't help, not one bit.

So instead I try to focus on the others. Competitiveness drives me, sad to admit, but true. But there is not much comfort there either. Mr Rainbow Pants has got the blocks out because full front splits are so not a challenge for him that he needs his feet higher up. My own groin hovers centimeters off the ground, stubbornly refusing to get any closer, as if the floor was made of highly dangerous mater that would suddenly consume it into oblivion if it ever got into contact. Naked boy clearly has no such consideration for his genitalia.

Ollie comes over and pushes me down. Ouch. Like, super ouch. I wince and growl all in one. Payback time, is it? But then when I'm done and barely able to get up again, he sits himself down in front of me. 'If you go into full plié you still get to stretch,' he grumbles. Ollie is not enjoying this anymore than I do.

So I squat wide behind him, pushing my knees apart as I apply pressure to his lower back. My inner thighs are screaming, my achilles are hollering abuse and promises of retaliation, but Ollie is staying put, so am I.

Every so often I look around to check whether Mr Xavier has returned from what he claimed would be five minute. I don't put it past him to be lurking up the balcony to check whether or not we are following his instruction to the letter. None of us dare try it.

Ollie and I ready ourselves to suffer another set with these two sniggering freaks throwing us snide glances, as if they are so sure we are that useless we will never catch up, will never be a threat to their place in the Company. Suddenly Ollie gets up, finds a CD out of his bag and goes to the stereo.

The bass booms, shaking the speakers in ways classical music never could, not even Wagner. I don't know the track but it would have sounded right at home in my hood.

Ollie busts some simple moves under the smirking eyes of the ballet boys. I get up to join him.

We flow together the way we did for the Street Beats. As our bodies warm up to this kind of dancing, our tricks grow. I glance at the other dancers, Kevin sitting in splits, Matthew standing by the barre, both watching us, although when Matthew catches my eyes he quickly looks somewhere else altogether, the wimp.

Ollie nods and mouths a 'b'. Three running man later, we jump and spin, our bodies horizontal to the ground as it twists in the air, our back leg flipping over us as we defy gravity. I check behind me. Yep, the ballet boys are staring now, Matthew doesn't even manage not to look impressed.

Ollie and I smile in companionship and chain up the tricks like a roller coaster tide, linking easy ones to catch our breath with the crowd pleasers.

I'm really getting down with the groove. I check Ollie out. I have no clue how to signal the coming plan, but hope the intensity in my eyes will be enough.

I retreat to the side, strut those little steps down, strike the poses from Wes's choreography. I don't know what kind of music Wes has in mind, and I'm sure it won't be Hip Hop, but this feels right for now. Emboldened, I stick all the moves down. As I get to the stupid grand battement combo, I steel myself. And there, I swing it, sharp as hell, still not high enough, but my goodness, 'swoosh' indeed.

Ollie laughs, loud and clear, his hands clapping to the beat as he comes over for a high ten. 'Way to go, mate.'

I must have sensed a presence, for my eyes shot to the balcony. No Mr Xavier there, but Rebecca is back, or was there all along.

There's a tight little rise at the corner of her mouth. There's no telling whether this is supposed to be a smile or a smirk.


	33. Chapter 33 - Pool

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian finds it tough being a full time dancer at the Company, especially as everyone else is touring and he is left with Wes and some intense practices. Being around Tara isn't much easier either._

Pool

When I come and see Tara nowadays I am shattered and barely stay awake enough to help her with her exercises. After that I rarely watch more than a quarter of whatever movie or programme she's chosen before I fall asleep. Then she has to shake me away when it's time to go home. But today, it's gonna be different. I have one day off training and practice. One day. And I am going to make it count!

So I'm here early.

The moment she opens the door I panic. Which is ridiculous. I spend almost every evenings with Tara, in this flat, alone for most of the time because Abigail is touring in Melbourne, Kat is filming an indie short movie in Adelaide, and Ethan is working even harder than I am with that musical theatre show he is choreographing. I am not complaining about that.

So being here for the day shouldn't feel weird, not at all.

But every time I get close to her, every time, I get flashbacks of that night when I had clung to her, hanging onto the hope that she was wrong, that we could make this work.

She had held me like a friend comforting another.

There I was, in her embrace, so tight against her, and she stood as if none of her hopes had been slashed, as if she was in complete and utter peace about it. The desperation that clawed at me then, it haunts me still.

So no matter how much I would love to hold her hand, to cuddle up with her when we watch a movie, how much I long to grab her and kiss her when we have laughed so hard her smile is on its highest setting, I never ever do anything.

Quite the opposite.

I lean back, I tighten my throat, pin down my arms and force myself to look elsewhere. Because in the last four months since she came to find me at my pool, since that magical moment when we kissed and the ensuing crash, she has done nothing, nothing at all, to make me think she could ever consider me to be her boyfriend ever again.

And so here I am, torturing myself by spending all the little free time I have with her, forever arguing with myself to stop wanting what she is not willing to offer, and to behave instead like the friend she wants me to be.

Awkward doesn't even cover it.

And maybe not just for me, for Tara often glances at my restlessness as if I'm going mad.

But today I came prepared. Today I have a plan, and we are going out.

'How about we try out your pool pass?' I ask with the most convincing smile I can muster.

'The pool?'

'Yeah.'

Tara hesitates. 'I really don't know.'

'The doctor said six weeks, and it's been eight since your second surgery. Come on, you're ready, I'm sure of it.'

Redness spreads across her cheeks. It takes a whole lot of self-control for me not to reach out and press my hands to her face to let the heat spread to my palms.

'Not today then, I can't go today.'

My eyes narrow as I think of what could make her this embarrassed. I scan down her body through my thinking process. I stop at her chins, hidden under a layer of grey cotton. Maybe it's as simple as a case of hairy legs. But my gaze trails back up towards her flowery midriff and it's my cheeks that are getting hotter.

Periods.

I might not be a girl but I comprehend enough to understand why that could be a problem. But she is a dancer. There is no way the girls let something like this stop them from dancing in the tightest and most revealing outfits like they have every day of their lives for the last three years. How different could a swimsuit be?

I leave my pondering to its pointlessness. I might as well ask. So I do, bold as brass. 'Why?'

Tara giggles, her eyes casting down. I exhale in relief from a tension I hadn't known I'd held. If it's silly enough to giggle about then it's got to be something I can cope with.

'Come on, why?'

'No, it's too embarrassing!'

'You have a terrible looking swimsuit?'

'You've seen all my swimsuits, nothing embarrassing there.'

'Okay, you've got one of those kiddies ponchos, you know, with the cartoon characters on it, as a towel.'

'Christian, you are being ridiculous.'

'It's your fault if I have to guess. Last one: you have yeti legs?'

Tara's laughter bursts out despite her hand trying to cover it up.

I bend down and reach out for the hem of her joggers. 'Let's have look.'

Tara swat my hand away, her face suddenly so serious. I've pushed the joke too far.

'It's not funny. I still can't twist.' Her eyebrows scrunch up, reminding me far too much of Miss Raine's chiding style.

'I can help with that.'

Her eyes grow wide.

I speak quickly before she can. 'You can trust me. How do you think I get these so smooth?' I say, stroking my cheeks.

Tara reaches out to the tip of my chin, and I freeze at her touch. 'Not so smooth there,' she points out. Her fingers trace up to my cheekbone. 'And you would have hardly any hair there anyway, even if you wanted to, right?'

I pinch my lips. She's got a point. I shake my head to scatter the tinge of annoyance away, even if that means letting her fingers slip off. 'Fair enough, but legs still have to be easier than stubby chins.' I stare in her eyes. 'Don't you trust me?'

The question suddenly feels so loaded, especially as she takes her time to respond when the answer should have flown out of her: ''of course I do'', but instead she measures me up.

'Alright,' she says with caution.

I brace myself, go to the bathroom to fetch what I can find. It might be Abigail's for all I know. In the kitchen I can't find a suitable container, so I just get out the largest saucepan available and fill it up with warm water. I return to her with all my supplies and a towel across my forearm, like a waiter.

I kneel at her feet and carefully roll up her trouser legs to above the knees.

Tara giggles again, I'm not sure it's because I am tickling her or she is really that embarrassed. In contrast I am rather amazed at how collected I am right now.

Without an ounce of hesitation I take her foot in my hand and place it delicately in the pan.

The hairs on her legs as so soft, with such a lighter shade of ginger, I just feel like caressing them.

The calm I was only seconds ago so proud of comes crashing down. Who am I kidding thinking that being in such intimate and close contact with her legs is going to have no effect on me? Yeah right. Too late.

I shuffle to find a more comfortable position and force myself to think straight. I get into a role, making my voice all effeminate. 'Here my sweet, do not worry, it will all be done in a moment.'

The giggles grow. Good.

'Is that water warm enough for you, dear?' I continue with my act. I sound so daft. And actually this is not funny. I should be man enough to do this and to cope with it on my own steam.

'Is the water alright, Tara?' I ask in my normal voice. Tara nods. There is a depth in her eyes that tells me she's glad I've cut the crap and just accept that we are who we are. Just friends. Just a friend helping out. No big deal. For her at least.

I lather the spray between my hands and massage it over her lower legs. I force myself not to look up at her reaction, then think that maybe I should have asked her to sit on the sofa, she would be more comfortable there, but then she might recline, and... and I can't afford to think about that. _Concentrate Cheds!_

The blade run smoothly over her leg, clearing trails of soft smooth skin from under the white foam. Five minutes later I towel her legs dry, and my throat is parched from swallowing too much.

'There, done'' I say, wishing it had taken longer. 'Anywhere else?' I ask in that mischievous tone I now realise I hate.

Tara's eyebrows shoot up to her hair line. 'No, other places I can deal with.' She holds her hands out for the supplies. I pile them up there and she goes, slowly, all the way to the bathroom, walker free.

I stay there, weighed down by the realisation that I might have kicked off that stupid habit of running away when things get tough, but that I've only replaced it with another coping strategy. I might be present, but I mock, I joke. I replace the physical distance with lack of integrity.

It's like I'm still just a little kid.

I haven't moved from kneeling by the suds-filled pan when Tara comes out of the bathroom. She glances at me, a frown forming on her brow. I am being weird again.

I scramble up and wash the pan clean.

Meanwhile Tara reappears at my side, a bag hooked on her shoulders, her feet in slip-on trainers. 'Ready?' she asks as she grabs hold of her walker.

I nod, my heart pouncing in my chest. We are going. In a few minutes, well, probably quite a few depending on her pace, we will be in a pool. And suddenly I 'm overwhelmed again with what happened the last time we were in a pool together. I had made the move, I had kissed her, and she had kissed me right back.

I try not to think about it as we take the lift. I try not to think about it as we face the early heat of the morning. I try to ignore it as we stroll down the streets, slowly up the hills, steadily on the flat stretches. I think about it as we take the underpass. I think about it as we emerged and we have to stop and buy a cool drink, already. I think about it as the minutes fly past and we have only made half the journey.

Tara is oblivious. She just smiles at people, effectively warding off their curious glances. She stops every so often, but it seems that it's to pause in a ray of sunshine to bask in the warmth, not just to catch her breath. I'm might be getting impatient with the snail's pace, but she's probably trying to keep up with me.

So I slow down even more up Bridge Street. But no matter my efforts Tara stops a lot there, struggling with the long steady rise of the road. I look for ways to help her out, but there is nothing I can do, or at least nothing she would want me to do short of lifting her up and carrying her all the way there.

So instead I play the tour guide. 'Look at this, here we've got these beautiful old red buildings, and

right bang in the middle is the Museum of Sydney, in all its modern ugliness.'

'Sticking out like a sore thumb between Education and Governance too,' she mocks with me.

I peer at Tara on the sly. Between the old and the new, where do we stand?

It's easier once we're in the park and there's the cooler breeze from the sea front.

But by the time we get to the pool, it has taken us one hour to get here. We all have done that journey so many times in the past, thirty minutes max, even back in First Year when we went as a whole cohort, all hot and bothered by the record breaking heat of that summer.

Now I have no clue how we will make it back.

I hadn't had the brains to look into public transports.

I stop mentally kicking myself and lead Tara down the front slope, glad that it is all very accessible. But once we're in she's gonna have to make it through the changing rooms alone.

My mind whirrs with thousands of worries as I swap my shorts for swimming ones. What if she slips? What if she gets stuck somewhere? Since when have a become such a worry head?

So I wait by the stands, watching the few swimmers there and the school kids in the shallower pool, my lifeguard training kicking into gear and clearing my head until Tara reappears.

She's got a spotty dark blue one-piece suit I have, contrary to what she might have said, never seen before. It has that vintage low cut feel that makes her look like a black and white movie star. She's got her brace over it, dragging the movie straight into drama mode.

I take a large calming breath, plaster a confident smile on and head for her.

When I get by her side she pushes the walker aside and grabs my arm.

'Slowly,' she whispers. Her steps are minute, as if she fears the floor will be too slippery.

I catch the lifeguard eyeing us up. I nod at him with a much greater confidence than the one I possess, as if we have done this thousands of times, nothing to worry about.

 _She is going to be fine, it's all going to be great_ , I chant to myself, when the rest of my head keeps on coming up with everything that possibly could go wrong.

We finally reach the ladder at the side of the pool, in a thankfully deserted lane.

'You first,' Tara pleads with her eyes.

I get in, the water feeling so cold against my hot skin that I shiver, and then all I can see are her legs and butt coming my way.

I have to clean my thoughts again. _You're here to help with her rehab._

One rung down.

 _Rehab._

Two rungs down.

 _Rehab._

 _And t_ here she is, shivering right alongside me.

'Cold, hey,' I barely manage to get out.

'But so good,' she says with a long sigh.

'Let's walk first,' we say at the same time.

Then we burst out laughing.

'Have you,' she says with that lopsided hold of her head that is trademark, 'by any chance, done so research then, Christian? Like, on the internet?'

I nod and she beams at me.

'Let's do this.'

And of course it's slow.

Tara catches my eyes, as if I'm still being impatient. 'Go on, you go and swim, I'll just stay near the edge here.'

'No Tara, I'm here for you. And next we have leg raises, right, so I'd better be there. It's all good, I'm glad I'm here.' And no matter how slow the pace is, I love being here, in the soothing water with her. It feels just right.

Tara, however, is looking exhausted already.

'You know what, let me do the work for a little while, lie down and I'll drag you.'

Tara scrunches her eyes as if the sun has suddenly got brighter. 'That's not in my research.'

'Mine is clearly more extensive then, trust me?'

This time, she doesn't hesitate. She reaches for her velcro, takes her brace off and flips it to the side. 'I'll never float with this on.'

Then she turns her back to me. I place my hands at the nape of her neck as she lowers herself so slowly into the water. I reach under her shoulders, cradling her head over my forearms, and I tug. Her body lifts to just beneath the surface as I step back. Her eyes close.

I walk backwards through the lane then softly turn in the widest U shape the lane allows, and go back to the start.

'You'd better stop now,' she suddenly calls out, making my heart jump and speed up like crazy. Is she hurt? What have I done?

'I'm getting cold, I think it's my turn to work now.'

'Wait for me here,' I say as I get out of the side of the pool, heading for the lifeguard on duty to ask for floats. He checks me out, but then he shrugs, leaves and returns with a large thick board.

'What's this for?' Tara asks.

'Kicks.'

'I can't do those, I'll hurt my back.'

'Not if you lie on it with just your legs out.'

Tara thinks this over, but in the meantime, I have dragged her back to the end of the pool and have placed her hands over the edge of the board, keeping the length of it flush to her body all the way down to her hip. Loading the weight of the board on my chest, my arms firmly around her torso, I move back and lower us down till Tara is floating.

I resume my dragging as Tara kicks cautiously at first, taking in speed as we cover a few half lengths. I could act out like a teacher, motivating her, directing her, but instead I just let her be. I don't need another fake role today, I want to be me, nothing more, nothing less.

After a while her legs shuffle more lazily, Tara's head now resting on her hands, her eyes blissfully closed again. And I drag her, making gently swerving movements to massage of spine.

'Thank you,' she mumbles.

'Thank you,' I say back to her.

'What for?' she asks more clearly.

'For trusting me.'

Tara searches for something in my eyes, on my face, reading every detail. I am not sure what she finds there, but my heart vibrates with heat when she whispers: 'Of course.'

 **Author's note: it was high time to have more Tara/ Christian time... Do comment/ review if you've liked it ;-)**


	34. Chapter 34 - Weird

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian's exhausted from his rehearsals with the Company, but nothing would stop him from still going to see Tara every night, even if that just means falling asleep as they chill watching TV. But that day Christian took Tara to the pool, today, he proved himself trust worthy. But now she's shattered, and so is he..._

Weird

I sit outside, in the shaded bit outside the pool, waiting for Tara to come out.

Of course I worry.

That seems to be my default mechanism today. I reason with myself that she probably would take ages to get ready, even without a bad back, a brace and a walking frame. And yet my mind still whirs out all possible accidents, problems and eventualities.

I get my MP3 out in hope that sound might silence the chaos within.

I scroll through the song list. Then I give up and just let the shuffle decide what will be my distraction.

I went to Sammy's house last week. Well, the Lieberman's house. No Sammy there. Not any longer. Sammy's dad had invited me and Zach, along with the Memorial's trustees - a assembly of white people in varying greyness of hair- to discuss plans for the Memorial.

I felt right at home, not.

But I took my role, that of the reliable, intelligent, controlled wannabe care-taker slash teacher. Teacher slash care-taker. Whichever way I look at it, it still feels weird.

When all the hot air being stirred up in the already stifling dining room got too much I made my excuses for the toilet.

Sammy's mum found me looking for my way on the landing. She got all teary just looking at me. I didn't know where to look. But when she offered to show me his room, I don't know why I just nodded and followed her.

I am not one for mausoleums: when someone is gone, they're gone. Sammy is not coming back. So no, I didn't want to see his bed, un-ruffled, all neat and smooth, the way it never would be if he were the one in charge of it.

No, I didn't want to have further proof of his absence in the completely clear desk but for his laptop, which I eventually had handed over.

And no, I didn't want to look at his photos, all pinned haphazardly on the walls, and yet I did.

They were all from first year. None from second year when he had severed links with his family, when his dad had cut his funding. So there is none of Grace, none of Ben, just Kat and Tara, lots of them. Sweet ones of Abigail, with smiles so much bigger and more innocent than I have ever seen on the real person. Maybe she only smiled that way for him. And there's me. So many of them I had no idea he had taken, or had someone else take, because there's plenty of us both.

That choked me so bad I turned round to escape, but Sammy's mum was still there, blocking the way.

'I don't know what we will do with this room.' She sighed. 'We will have to do something with it at some point. Maybe you'd know what to do with those.' She pointed at the one wall I hadn't noticed, which was covered, from floor to ceiling, in books on one shelf, and in CDs on the other.

I glanced at the volumes, but found nothing at first glance that would catch my attention. The CDs, however, made me laugh.

Crazy stupid reaction.

But it was too much like listening to his music at our memorial for him: a huge mishmash of everything. That man listened to anything. There were classical compilations mingling with AC/DC, Eminem with Bertie Blackman, Sia with The Beatles, Waltzing Matilda and Sade. You name it, it was there.

All too hurtful to bear, so I laughed, that good all cope out. And because it would be funny, if it wasn't so shatteringly sad. I thought I had known this boy, I thought he had been my mate, and yet there had been so much I hadn't known. Not really.

'There's enough to open a shop,' I joked through a tight throat.

That made her laugh too, a small wispy one but still.

'I would love to borrow some of his music, but I think he had it all on his laptop. Do you think I could borrow that instead?'

Sammy's mum, it pains me to realise I still don't know her name, nodded with a wide smile. She stepped slowly over to the desk to pick it up, holding it as if this was the most precious of items, not a battered and taped-up laptop that had seen too much use.

'Here, I'm sure he would have loved you to have his music. Some of it might surprise you.'

'I'm sure it will.' I took it from her, keeping it horizontal just as she had done. 'Thank you, I'll bring it back when I'm done.'

'No rush, nothing is moving from here, not yet at least.'

She went then, and I returned to the heated discussions with my head even less engaged.

Back at the bedsit I hadn't even bothered to select stuff. I had transferred everything straight onto my MP3. I had to buy an extension memory card for it all. Now I just listen to it and delete the stuff that is too unbearable, and there is plenty. But I have been amazed, over the week, how much good stuff he listened too, stuff I wouldn't otherwise have ever got to hear.

So right now, in the heat of the late morning, I lie down on the scorched grass and prepare to be challenged. Good or bad, listening to Sammy's music is always a challenge.

The first track is a good old HipHop one of mine, no surprises there. And then comes a number that sucks me right in. I check the title: Brother. It's pop rock but with this weird quality that reminds me of churches, not that I spend much time there. I listen, and I listen again. I am on my third repeat when Tara's shadow darkens the already hazy bit where I'm laying.

'Shall we?'

I put away my stuff and glance at her. She looks pale. Even paler than usual.

'Are you alright, Tara?'

Tara inhales slowly. 'Yes, but tired. It was great to swim, I've loved it,' she adds very quickly, as if to reassure me. 'But I'm really exhausted.'

'I'm -'

'Shall we take the bus?' she asks quickly to shut my apology down before it even had a chance to come out.

'I don't know if there's one.'

Tara laughs. 'Of course there is, just there. I've asked at the desk, there should be one soon. We'll have to change in town, but that would be okay, I could do with a bit of air conditioning.' She grins and heads for the bus stop.

I didn't know what to expect but this is somehow even worse than I thought it might be.

It's like Tara is sitting on a pin cushion, forever arranging herself, her frame, her brace, the way her feet cross, and we've been on the bus for only two minutes.

I stare at the way she is shifting her legs when the reason dawns on me. She is too low.

'Tara, up,' I say holding my hand up to help her out.

She stares at me.

'Up.' I repeat.

And she does with her now usual breathing, holding up and rising as if being pulled from the top of her head.

I shuffle along to sit where she was and guide her down to my knees.

'Better?'

Tara still stares at me. Then she glances around her and giggles. 'There's a woman over there who seems to think this is quite uncouth, and she might be right about that, but yes,' she sighs in release, 'this is much better.'

'Glad to be of help.'

We get back hours later after having lunched perched on the high stools of a tapas bar, rested on the grass of probably every small area of green in the centre of Sydney and shopped in malls I had never set foot in.

For a day of rest, I have been much busier than I should have been.

By the time I get Tara back home, I am as shattered as any other evenings.

But routine is routine, and we still go through Tara's exercises, she helps me with my flexibility ones. Somehow these go much better when it's Tara holding me down.

After a quick dinner that we cook together I collapse on the sofa.

Tara joins me, carrying a soft bundle in her arms. With flourish she floats the blanket over my lap, tucks herself under the other side, then hugs the pillow to her chest, her thumb already on the remote to select a channel.

'How long before you fall asleep?' she asks.

Just the mention makes me yawn. 'I'm sorry, I'm useless at the moment.'

My tiredness must be contagious, because Tara's yawning even louder than I did. 'We both had a busy day today.'

'How's your back?'

'Good.'

Tara glances at me, then at the screen and back.

'What?'

'Please don't find it weird.'

'Don't find what weird?'

'Promise.'

'Tara, you know me too well, and I know you too well. If you think I'm likely to find something weird, I probably will.'

'Ok, it's nothing.'

That pulls me out of my slouch. 'Tara, what might be weird?'

I gaze at her, willing her to be brave, willing her to trust me. Willing myself to be worthy of it. I tighten my lips, I work at keeping my face smooth. Even if it's beyond weird, I'm going to act as poised as possible.

After two more glances, Tara sighs. 'It's nothing really, but I hate waking you up when you look so tired, and then you have to ride all across town.'

I nod, all composed still. So far, so very reasonable. Not that she can do anything about either my tiredness or my travelling.

'That's why I bought a toothbrush today.'

I stare at the blue toothbrush she's holding out from wherever she had kept it. The one she had bought at the chemist today. I hadn't believed anyone could spend so much on a toothbrush.

I am not sure where she is going with this, but her associations are weird alright.

'So you can brush your teeth if you want to stay.' Tara suddenly stares down at her lap. 'And that's what the blanket and pillow are for too. They're for you if you want to stay and sleep on the couch. You know it would be no problem at all,' she says with increasing speed. 'Abi's hardly ever here, as you know, and I don't mind you being on the sofa, or being there for breakfast, not that I would be up by the time you need to go. It's not the most comfortable sofa but it has to beat the one at the boarding house, right? I mean, you don't have to, it's just... just... ' she gasps. 'Just in case.' And with that, she takes a long drawn breath and still doesn't look at me.

That's one heart-wrenching weird. One I could well get too used to.

 **Author's Note: Do feel free to comment, as this is how writers learn to hone their skills.**


	35. Chapter 35 - There

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian finally took Tara to the swimming pool, and she had trusted him with it all, from shaving to rehab and spending time together in town. That side of life is looking rather peachy as she, in not so many words, is inviting him to stay over when he gets too tired to head home. But it's a completely different story back at the Company..._

There

Enough. I've had enough. Enough of the bickering. Enough of Wayne, Wes and Rebecca all having their say in how I should dance my character. Worst still, how I should act it. And there I have to stand through it all, waiting for them to make up their minds. Waiting to see who I should follow, knowing that seconds later another will correct me the other way. In all of this mess who am I supposed to listen to? Who am I to trust? And my head keeps on saying that the only one I can trust is me. Not that they would stop bickering to hear my take on the role, of course.

So when all the rehearsals are done I just hang around in the corner, stretching, till everyone is gone. Then I quietly get up and turn off the lights. I wait in darkness and silence till the last person is out, out of the dressing rooms, out through the corridors, out into the night. When the whole Company building has been still and quiet for at least five minutes, I roll up a piece of paper and wedge the door open. The corridor lets in just enough light for me to see my shadowy shape in the large mirrors.

I push my earbuds in and press play.

It takes only the first few beats for the music to take hold of me and I move. I have not written this choreography. There's no need. It is alive in my mind, every turns, every extensions, etched in my consciousness; they fill my head.

But it doesn't work.

How am I supposed to let it all out when I'm holding something in my hand?

I could put it on the stereo, but others might still be lingering, and I don't want to be disturbed. I want to get lost in it. I want the dance to overcome and take me to that place where there is nothing else. Nothing else at all.

With a huff I turn the track off and rush to my bag in search of a solution. My hand comes back out with a sock.

A sock.

A smelly one at that.

I stare for a second, then get my teeth into it, biting a small hole that I stretch into a rip. I slide my arm in, pulling the sock all the way over my bicep. I double the layer and squeeze the mp3 in. It should be tight enough, but I still fold a flap over it like an envelope. I can't help it: it's stupid and against my conscious will but there's still a crookedness on my right cheek. I am alone and I'm smirking as I return to the centre: _Move over fancy armbands, I make my own._

I press play again, but something stops me from moving. I glance over my shoulder. Her face is hidden in shadow but I have no doubt this is Abigail. And it's not because of her small frame, there's something about her that simply says ''I am here''.

The whole atmosphere changes, suddenly filled with tension. Despite the darkness, and the fact that we can barely see each other, she knows I know she's watching and that I am not liking it one bit.

I normally would be pissed off. I always do when things don't go my way: I don't want an audience and here I am with one. Yet it's relief that seeps through me. I don't have the head space to think about what that means, I make the most of it instead. I blank it all out and catch up with my dance.

I do glance at her once, on a slow turn. The back light draws faint patterns on her face. The pout and crinkled eyes are unmissable. Neither are the tightly crossed arms.

And still I dance. And the relief grows. Abigail might be the harshest judge I might find, and I've got no desire to hear her views, but somehow it feels just right that she would see this.

After the very last dragging note, I finally look squarely at the door. Abigail is still there.

I press play again, and start anew. The moves might be clear in my head, my body still needs to adjust, to go through the transformation that makes each idea, each concept, take form.

It starts with the rigidity of the first part, where I become a beacon of strength, with bold moves, from each muscles lining my spine engaged to keep me strong and grounded to the ones in my elbows, shoulders, hips, knees, ending with the finely tuned grips of my toes.

The second thought leaves me aching to breathe, not simply because dancing is exhausting at the best of times, but because the shapes there are so much squashed, my chest never getting a chance to straighten, only twisting into bends, forward or back, sideways, my lungs remaining squeezed between little glimpse of release through the short changes.

The third move has to look so light, so airy, as the acro comes in; the lifts that would be there if a partner was present, the roll over backs, the crisscrossing patterns. But it is all an illusion we take the audience on. Inside, it's all burn. Not a muscle is left unused, to leap, to land, to shape, to retain a modicum of balance when your sight cannot help you much, and neither can your ears. When those senses are impaired, the body has to take over. Light it might look, light it is not.

And then comes the penultimate part, where my body should communicate with the other, to link, mirror, echo and clash, where all the moves combine, from bold to soft, from high to low, from wide to narrow, from steady to unhinged. I should feel lost, but somehow my body finds its way, the music and concept leading it on till the last base line, accompanied with just some hand claps and a few shakes of tambourine, takes me on a steady walk to the back, my heart rate evening out, my stature regaining its normal shape, when I become human again.

It is only when I stop that I become fully aware that Abigail has moved right in front of me, between my piece and the mirror. Her frown is deep as she comes towards me. She snatches the mp3 out of my made-up sock-armband, pulling the earbuds out with the tug, and heads straight to the sound system. I don't even stop her.

'Whose piece is this?' she asks as she plugs the wire in.

'Mine.'

That makes her turn. 'That's not you.'

I shrug. 'It is.'

The soft tambourine in the background, the ah-ing voices, then the rhythmic drum fill the room, one adding to the other.

'Go,' she orders.

'You go.'

She hits pause. 'Excuse me?'

'It's a pas-de-deux.'

'Oh, is it now?' Abigail's face can be such a theatre stage, her eyebrows now rising in derision, her tone as narky as can get. She doesn't need spotlights or microphones.

I just nod. 'M-hm.'

We have that knack where we normally rub each other the wrong way without even trying to, but somehow my candidness must be taking her by surprise.

'What is it about?' The narrowing eyes are back.

'What do you think?' I ask, genuinely so.

Abigail doesn't say a thing. Instead she circles around me. I would like to think she is looking for an answer but the tightness that grows in whatever part of my body she is nearest to, my back, my left arm, my stomach, tells me she's probably looking for a snide comment instead.

She stops by my right side, and it feels strangely light.

'Helplessness.'

I wish I could see her face. I wish I could check that the wistfulness I did hear in her voice is right. But her face is in complete darkness, even if I could see it properly and not at the very edge of my peripheral vision.

I nod, but it's kind of askew. I wonder if she notices. Helplessness is just one part of it.

'So why on earth should ''I'',' the stress is unavoidable, 'dance this?'

'It's about being there, when others need us.'

Abigail huffs. 'Well, there you go, double reason.' She tuts for extra effect and aims for the door.

'Oh, of course. You've never been there for anyone. You didn't help Kat get back into the Academy. And you didn't coach Tara through the Red Shoes. Neither did you support Ollie through all his music schemes. You did none of that. You weren't there for them at all. How silly of me.'

Abigail flips her hand in the air as she still walks away. 'Slips.'

'No.'

Abigail swings back to face me, not that it makes a blind bit of difference in the dull light seeping through the door behind her.

I swallow hard. What I am about to say, it's going to take a bit chunk out of my chest, but I've got to.

'And you didn't push Sammy in that fountain when he was freaking out about his competition. No, of course you didn't.'

I can't see it but I hear her mouth pop open.

'He told me. You were there for him, Abs, time and again.'

Abigail sighs, a wet heavy sound coming out in a rush. 'See what that got me.'

'It's his music.'

'What?'

'It was on his playlist.'

'How the -'

'I borrowed his laptop,' I rush to say before she makes accusations. 'Sammy's room, his family's keeping everything.' I swallow hard at the memory of his posters, his books. The only thing that was not Sammy's in that room was the tidiness. 'His music collection is like nothing I have ever seen. He listened to everything and anything. But when I heard this, I didn't have to think. The whole thing just mapped out. Listen to it at least.'

I swallow again, even if it makes little difference to the ache in my chest.

I count the seconds. It takes nineteen and a half for Abigail to come back. I mirror her action: every step she takes towards me, I take away and back towards the sound system, till she is in full centre and I have my finger on the button.

'I have watched you twice, without music. How the heck am I going to dance this for you? I have no clue what the girl would do. It would be a girl, right?'

I shrug again. 'Now it just feels right that it's you, but it could be either, it really doesn't matter.'

I sense the death stare without seeing it, it's even more potent.

'Just dance what you saw, I'll do the other bit.'

I press play.

I've got to give it to her, she is really something. Most dancers only need to watch once or twice to remember. It's like we have specially designed brains that transform what we see into what our bodies do. But this is so much more. The moves are really complex, often contradicting in their patterns, and yet she's got them all. This track completely suits her in its strength, in its powerful beats, in its crescendos.

When I join her she is startled by the role I take, as I expected, but within seconds it's like puzzle pieces fitting together. As she plays the protector, I am the weak one. She becomes my shelter, my strength. Where my moves are soft and giving, hers are bold and solid.

But something isn't quite right. I reach over carefully and pull Abigail's hair out of its ponytail. She frowns at me for a second, but then flings her thick brown mane with the tempo, setting herself free of shackles, letting her whole body whip adversity into submission, finding her place in the role.

The chorus explodes and so do we, the movements that had been for both of us quite contained take wider shapes, released into full expression. Her eyes bore into mine. Does she see it coming? Will she get it? Will she allow herself to? Will she let herself be fragile?

The second verse takes over. I move. Abigail freezes. I move again, her eyes boring into mine in the darkness. She won't do it. But then there's a sharp sound, as if she's just ground her teeth. Her strength, her shrewdness, her boldness, it all melts. Her moves are not exactly mine, neither is she completely deviating. The main shapes are there. Maybe she remembered the first part best, maybe she is just resisting. But it works. And I lose myself back into the movement. She has accepted the challenge, I might as well trust her to bring it on.

The second chorus repeats as Abigail the strong lets me be the shelter, the one to be there for her. Every time her face comes into the light, I discern a sadness that I haven't seen there for a long while. Not since Sammy died. Not since we finally said goodbye.

For a painful heartbeat I want to stop.

That she would need to portray this level of abandonment for such a piece is a given, but that was never Abigail's forte, the emotional. Maybe it's too much. Or maybe I am a chicken and I don't want her to know what is coming. Maybe I don't trust she can pull it off, or that I can pull it off, or that anyone can pull off what I dreamed up. Maybe there's no way it could work.

I grab her for the lifts, the spins and twists, the thank-yous, the imagined lightness.

But the banged-on piano breaks the spell, as we dance the same parts, side by side, both lost and both strong, both caught in that duality that sometimes you are the shelter, and sometimes you are the one being rescued.

As the chorus keeps on, the choir joining in, we meld even more. We take turns in the roles, our bodies never disconnecting. Either our backs are against each other, or it's our hands. They are not holding, but connecting, skin to skin. Then it's my foot on hers, her foot on mine, our elbows or knees interlocking. If we part, it is for seconds. Our moves differ but are the same in how they feel to dance, in how I hope they will be perceived.

As the clapping and tambourine fades, we walk away to the back, in lines that seem to be parallel but are actually at an angle. We separate and yet remain connected, very much there for the other.

In the growing silence, we both sit. We don't even need to talk to each other or check each other out, the symbiosis of the dance hasn't quite left us. Then I collapse to the ground. My body is shattered from dancing at company standards all day, and I have just danced this demanding piece three times, and yet I am full of energy. I'm on a complete high.

This dance, it is not finished, I know that much. It's still in its infancy. There's room to grow, to get shaped into something even more special, but the potential is there. It is real. That piece of mine, it has just seen the light of day. It exists, it is possible, more than possible.

I force myself to sit back up and face Abigail.

The lights get turned on blinding us until our pupils adapt to the sudden change. Wes walks in with a smile, but tight eyes.

'Interesting.'

Abigail beams as she gets up to reach him.

'You've been watching, have you? I was good, I'll give you that. The work itself was not too bad I guess.'

I smirk at the tone that does not match the words.

But Wes is still eyeing me up. Which is ridiculous. There's no way Wes could be jealous of me. He is the contemporary choreographer for the Company, for crying out loud. It's not as if I am ever going to want his job. And then I spot how tight his hold is around Abigail's waist, following her as she takes my water bottle to drink. That and the way he slides side glances at me reminds me of Ethan. It's probably the way I look when Ethan is a bit too touchy feely with Tara. Well, he has even less to worry there.

'Shall we go now?' he asks her.

Abigail detangles herself from his hold. 'Just a minute, I'll catch up with you outside.'

Wes gives her a brief nod, and me a measuring glance.

I'll give him credit for being weary of me. I've deserved this many times before, but never less than right now.

I do envy him his confidence though, that acknowledgement and trust that after all Abigail makes her own choices. I'm not ever sure Abigail is aware of that. But then she is on par with me on this subject, there is no way we would ever see each other in a romantic light, we are too much alike.

She comes back to me and stares into my eyes, deep brown irises verses even darker one, and it's as if I am no longer in front of a person, like she has suddenly transformed into my own reflection. We both used to be cowards when it came to bonding with others, not wanting to rely on anyone else but ourselves, running around scared when anyone made any claims on us. But look at us now. She with Wes, me and my hopes with Tara. We, the bold and strong, are we getting soft? And maybe even stronger through it?

She bites her lip for a second. 'You're being very funny and all that, but this is just another distraction for you. There's no way I'm gonna dance this. It's not just that I would have to cut out sleep altogether to find any more hours to dance, I'm sure I am contracted not to do anything else but the company's work. Unlike you.'

'When there's a will, there's a way.'

Her face grows serious. 'When we are done here and with the touring, that will be it for you. Not for me. It will be corps de ballet endurance test all over again.

'But I need you.'

'Oh, others have played that card before, I'm not falling for it again. You can do without me.' Abigail rises her eyebrows. 'No one is irreplaceable,' she says, imitating Rebecca's sharp tone. 'Remember?'

'I don't believe this for a second. And neither do you. Sometimes we just have to make without.'

Sadness seeps through her eyes as it fills my throat. We both have that same person that will remain irreplaceable.

'Of course someone else could dance this,' I conceded, 'but my guts tell me it has to be you, because you get it. Because you are like me, we might want to pretend we can live our lives all by ourselves, that we don't need anyone, but look at us. How more wrong could we actually be?'

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: the music Christian and Abigail dance to is Brother, by NEEDTOBREATHE. You can easily find it online, if you are curious. **

**watch?v=61Wm_qlVD4Q**

 **and the accoustic version watch?v=VoqTLWF7ofI**

 **And sorry it is taking so long to update... life is busy, but I am still working. Hoping it will all be done by the end of October... the last chapters are written, just the few ones in between that needs to be committed to the blank pages.**


	36. Chapter 36 - Shades of Mud

_Previously on Dance Academy: Christian struggles with his moves for his main role in The Company's next performance, a new Ballet created by Wes and co-choreographed by a tall and lanky Brit, Wayne, who is making his life hell. Christian found solace in dancing some of his own choreography, with Abigail's reluctant participation, but real life is back, and The Company's obligation is calling._

Shades of Mud

This is it. First stage rehearsals. And I'm not ready. Not in the slightest, and yet it's only when I push the artists' entrance door to the Sydney Opera House that I notice the bounce in my step.

That just won't do. So I force some steel into my heels but the memory of last night makes me light all over again. Which is pathetic. Since when has going out for a meal and rom-com movie made me feel so happy? It's crazy. Especially that for Tara we're just two friends hanging out before my life is taken over by daily performances here and then on tour.

I've got to get my head in the game. I have morning class to warm up and gather up whatever made Rebecca pick me for this role, because by the look of this last week, nobody understand why and the soloists are circling around my role like vultures.

Right. Steel in my heels, rod in my spine, lead in my head. _Come on, Cheds, you need to nail this_.

I stride through the corridors. The rest of the Company greet me with their usual 'Hi!' and 'Morning!' but their eyes suddenly grow wide, their smiles shrink back and their steps falter, as if I am scaring them. By the looks of it I've gone too far with the rigidity.

Too much. Too little. The story of my life: no happy middle.

I stomp down the many corridors that make the base of the Opera House, but Wes cuts my path. Holding my shoulders he directs me in the opposite direction from the dressing rooms.

'Costume and make-up for you, mate.'

I hunch under his touch. I don't like being handled at the best of time, but the idea of dressing up makes it even worst. I remember all too well when they first showed me the sketch of my costume. The first fitting was even worst. It's ballet, so of course it's tights, coupled with a jacket that doesn't move right.

I wonder if they've managed to come up with something better by now. I bet it's still that disgusting muddy shade of green, and I doubt they decided to get rid of the lanky bits that hang everywhere, making me look as if I've been dipped into a pond and fished right back out dripping with moss and weeds. Not my best look. They had mentioned make-up back then too, I must have committed that to oblivion to spare me the nightmares.

Wes doesn't let go of me till we reach the deepest pits at the back of beyond where make-up artists and costume designers seem to lurk.

A woman is waiting for me there, her dark blond hair piled up messily at the top of her head. She evaluates me from head to toe with greedy grey eyes, as if she's been waiting for her canvas a long time and she's finally got her hands on it.

'Here he is, Maggie,' Wes says. 'All yours.'

'Better get this on, then,' Maggie says, pointing at the tights hanging against the wall, dangly bits and all. I scan the room. There isn't even a partition. Prudishness is clearly overrated.

It takes for me to kick off my shoes for Wes to rattle his throat. 'I'll leave you to it,' he says as he leaves.

I pretend Maggie isn't there, get undressed and pull on my disguise as pond scum. I search for the top, but it's nowhere to be seen.

'We are going for body paint now,' Maggie says with great relish. 'Or try it out at least.'

I cannot pretend she is not here anymore. She's staring at my chest with such intensity I have to fight the urge to cross my arms over it like a teenage girl.

Without any warning she's grabbed me and pushed me down onto a narrow stool.

'It's lucky you're not that hairy,' she says casually.

I'm too slow. Before her words register she's already sticking more weed-like dangly bits all over my body. 'These should stay nicely on, and shouldn't be too bad to take off.' She smiles as if that's a positive.

That's when I notice the pots on the counter, large size, in all shades of mud.

I gasp as she spreads the cold gooey green, some stinky brown, then a mix of the two everywhere, till I am covered. From the top of the tights that have that weird pointy bit at the front that goes far too low for my liking to the top of my hair, there isn't an inch that isn't smothered. Behind my ears? Check. Inside my nostrils? Oh Hell check! Even my hair has been sprayed and gooed into both spikes and floppy strands.

After nearly an hour of sitting I finally stand. I have to stare hard at my eyes in the mirror to recognise myself.

Despite how opposite the effect this reminds me of the first time I had proper make-up done for my Prix de Fonteyn preliminaries, my Corsaire solo. The girls had shadowed my face so that my cheek bones popped out, narrowing my nose with highlighters, lining my eyes with black to make them sultrier. Then I was made more attractive than I normally am. Now, I am a monster.

'Smile,' Maggie suggests.

I throw her a dubious look. Has she actually done that much magic that she managed to give me fangs without my notice?

My curiosity is too strong. I stretch my lips.

I'm floored.

The transformation is beyond words. From a mess of brown when my face is at rest, it suddenly lights up when I smile. It's not just that my teeth shine so white against the dark background as if lit from an inner source. The markings on my face merge to make my cheeks rounder, softer. The ones in the corner of my eyes converge to dig deep laughter lines, giving me an air of raucous merriment. Monster and joker, I am both with just a switch of expression. Dual. Extremes. Rebecca had warned me, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

A scratchy type of sound emerges from behind Maggie's back. 'Ready?' asks Wes's voice in a rumble of static.

Maggie picks up a walkie-talkie from her belt. 'Oh yes. I think you'll be pleased. I'll send him up.' She releases the button and presses it straight away again. 'Over,' she adds with a giggle.

'Okay, straight up to the stage for you, Christian.' She scrutinises my chest once more, like a Pygmalion to her sculpture.

But I'm glued to my seat. I didn't want to come down but now I'd rather stay here, on this stool, because if they want me up there, it's to perform. And unless this make-up is really as magical as it seems I can't see how it will help with my actual dancing.

'Come on,' Maggie pulls the stool from under me. 'Go and show them how you look.'

I can't help but smile back at her, her pride is that contagious.

'Please tell me no one expects me to learn how to do this.'

Maggie shakes her head, her smile growing even more. 'No, I'll be here every night, and on tour. So exciting!'

I glance at the mirror. 'You know this is top sci-fi movie worth, right?'

'I'd hope so, that's what I trained for. I don't get to do much of this, though, it's all pretty fashion make up and the likes...'

I could kick myself for saying the wrong thing, once again. That look on her face, that pride and despair all mixed into one, it's so painful.

'You'll have to come and bow with me, at the end.'

The smile is back, with an added blush that frees my chest from its guilty crush. 'I'm sure that's not allowed.'

'Probably not.' But I will do my darn best to make sure she does, if only just the once.

I stride through the many corridors to the back of the stage. Wes is talking to someone or other on the side, Wayne is pacing at the front of the stage, his long legs covering the whole distance in half the time it would take a normal person, his arms swinging at his side, 'wooshing' he would call it. I glance over to find Rebecca, sitting halfway up the stalls, her eternal clipboard perched on her lap. Waiting. Waiting for me.

Everywhere else people with head phones and talkie-walkies are busying about, setting the stage, the sound, the lights, like an anthill of activity. The very thought of how much the audience have to pay to see Dance performances used to make me sick, but now that I am on the other side all I see is how many people it takes to make it happen. From the guys in smelly workshops sweating to make individually customised shoes for the girls, who use them at the rate of sometimes up to three pairs per performance, all the way to the people in hospitality, the performers, the support staff, to the millions of sequins that need to be sewn, the creatives, the cleaners, the executives, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it.

And sure, I'm glad for my salary too. There's no escaping that. As much of it as I can goes into savings, cause this ain't going to last, not for me.

My thoughts are interrupted, hidden as I am behind one of the screens, by Wayne abruptly ceasing his circling to exclaim: 'Mr Warner! Luke! Thank you so much for coming early.' He then crouches down at the edge of the stage and all I could see then is a pale hand shaking his from the orchestra pit.

'And now where is Christian?' Wayne asks, sliding his skinny frame back into an upright position in one clean move. That man is like a moving spaghetti. No surprise I struggle with the flow of his choreography.

Deep gust of sounds erupts from somewhere as I step into the light.

'I'm here.'

Apart from the continued booming noises, there is suddenly complete silence, and complete lack of movement. Everyone has stopped what they are doing and is staring at me.

I just stand there, like an idiot, just as I did for my last dance at The Academy end of year Gala, our Company auditions, before I launched into my little impromptu speech of thanks. But right now I have nothing to say, so I just stand and let them stare.

'Wow.' Wes comes up beside me, inspecting my transformation.

'Lights,' Wayne calls to the engineers.

A spot light comes on straight at my face, blinding me.

'To your entry spot,' Wayne commands.

I step back between the prompt side legs dividing the edge of the stage.

'Recording ready?' I hear him ask. 'Luke, ready?'

The answer must have been yes for the music starts.

I step back out on stage, hands on hips. Now I've found my voice and it's my turn to stare. 'I've been pinned down at make up for an hour,' I say with a bit too much venom, 'I missed morning class altogether.'

Wayne shrugs. 'Just don't push it then.' As if this is nothing, as if anyone could dance his steps on a cold hard un-warmed body, the bloody fool. As if he, of all people, will not be asking for perfection dripping with sweat and blood.


	37. Chapter 37 - Double Bassoon

_Previously on Dance Academy, Last Chapter: Christian has spent the first hour of what should be his morning class before stage rehearsal being covered in paint. He now has to face the actual dancing!_

Double Bassoon

'It's not so much the dancing we need to look at,' Wayne sighs, 'but the acting.'

Right.

This is my entrance into a story that no one has heard of, so no one knows what to expect nor who the hell I am supposed to be. It's got to be all on the strength of my dancing. In a few moves I need to somehow convey that I am some kind of sorcerer, that I am invisible to the rest of the cast till I want to be seen, that I like to wreak havoc as my favoured distraction and that I care not a single bit about anyone else. And I need to do that with all my features marred in brown and green with bits flopping out.

I am not saying it will be easy for the other dancers either, who have to pretend they can't see me and yet show that my presence makes them uncomfortable. That pisses my character off so he throws a bit of a tantrum. Still unseen he pushes, pulls, pinches and what not, creating a fair bit of wreckage. That at least makes him smile, and that's when I switch from being invisible and impossible to bear to being all charm.

That's what the make-up effect is for, now I get it. They can see me in all my disgustingness, but when I smile and aim to woo, no one can escape being drawn in. This is where the ballet pushes deep into its classical roots as I preen, there is no other word for it, doing all my tricks to impress. From being invisible and annoying to favourite at the court. I'm supposed to 'act' this all in one scene.

Wayne points to the space where I am supposed to be. He is waiting, again.

I huff. Very professional, I know. I huff, but still I go back and ready myself to fail with my fists tight and my breath short. I can't even rub my face like I normally do when I need to concentrate.

I try, I do. I try to visualise where the corps de ballet will be standing, how each will be moving. I try.

The music stops again, so do I.

'Christian, listen to the bassoon, that's why Luke is here.'

 _The what?_

A bald patch and pair of eyes jut from over the edge of the stage. 'Maybe I could come up.'

Wayne and I stare at him, and I want to laugh. That pallid guy thinks he can help me act and dance better? What a joke! But I get a sudden flash, a memory slapping me around the face. The day I first met Sammy, with his school uniform and geeky glasses. I had judged him on appearances too. I had been wrong.

So I take a deep breath and force myself to have an open mind as I watch the man disappear then coming up the side, carrying the bulkiest and weirdest instrument I have ever seen in my life. From the brown of it, it must be made of wood, but it's convoluted over itself what looks like at least three times, with metal bits welded into it, a long thin rod at the bottom and a curved one at the top. A ''bassoon'', I presume.

One of the guys on the set brings out a chair for him, another his music stand.

He sits, all very straight back. 'He will hear the DOUBLE bassoon better like this, I think,' Luke says, emphasising on the adjective.

Wayne shrugs. 'Fine by me, for now.'

Luke nods, then joins with the staring at me. He brings his lips to the curved bit, and blows.

That's the sound that came out earlier on, the one that is supposed to be my cue. For it is not enough that we are throwing a weird Nordic tale at our Aussie audience. Oh no, we also need to push in a double layered melody, one for the humans in the story, and one for the weird mystical creature. Lucky me.

So that's why this guy is here, to play my music above the rest, to help me focus. A make-up artist, a musician. What other help am I going to need to get this monster off the ground?

Luke got one thing right though, I can hear him better from where he now sits. But it's more than that. Whatever harsh critique Wayne's aims at me, he seems to take into his stride too. He must be playing the same notes, he's got his own set of rules to abide to, I'm sure, but he plays them differently somehow. So when my moves take on a different idea, a different tone, so does he, softening the sound, or making it sharper.

He and I, we've become a team. Another person bringing this wacky creature to life. Another person I'll have to bring up to bow, at the end. Well, if I make it that far that is, cause I'm not getting any nearer, and there are many behind me who would love to don the brown make-up in my place if I don't brush up my act.

Part of me would love to relinquish this and say ''go on, take it''. The bigger part is far too proud.

'No. No, no, no.' Wayne is up right in my face, then steps back again. 'I know you're covered in paint, but you need to show us jealousy.'

My heart is already beating so hard from dancing, but this is getting it up a notch. Jealousy. I should know enough about jealousy. I didn't know much about it till it found me when I least wanted it to, just like Kat back in second year. It had done her no favours. It had shown her the truth. That I did not love her, not really, not enough. She couldn't unlearn this once she had got it. Nor could I. When I think of Tara, I can't help but think of Ben, or Ethan, who each in their own way had taken her from me, and still could.

I stare in the distance to try to find some focus, as if jealousy is lurking in the shadow across the stage. It's not jealousy I find there but Maggie, watching me from behind the dividers, the rucksack I had left behind at her feet. I blank her out and focus on Ethan and Tara and go back for another try at that section. That works a nightmare.

Not anger, Christian! Jealousy.'

I want to laugh at that. Isn't that one and the same?

Wayne rubs his brow. 'Right, call in the Corps, let's give this monster something to move around.'

I am all jittery. From my heavy breath, my throbbing heart to my feet tapping a mad tempo on the floor. I tried for jealousy, I go anger, and now it is eating me from the inside. I need an out, and I need it right now.

'I'll give myself five then,' I say without even checking that it's okay. I rush past Maggie and grab my bag without looking at her. I'm mad enough without adding her disappointment.

I escape into the deepest and loneliest part at the back of the stage where the sets are stored, and slouch to the floor, still in my brown. I would love nothing better than to scratch it all off, to rip those tights, to throw it all behind and become me again. But somehow I must know I won't, otherwise I would already be in the shower doing just that. I'm not even sure what is holding me back. I owe nothing to anyone here. Contract or not I could bail out. Easy. So why don't I?

I fish out my phone, not that I really hope Kat will answer. She's constantly busy at the moment.

'Hey.'

Well, this might be a not so unlucky day after all. 'Hey, how are you?'

'Lunch break, I've got fifteen minutes. You?'

'Barely more time. Look, can I ask you a question?'

'Hmm, fire away.'

'I need a crash course on Acting for Dummies.'

She pauses. 'What's up?'

'They've given me this mad guy to dance. I can just about do the moves, but they are giving me hassle over the transcendence of emotions, or some other trash like that.'

'Hey, don't insult the art form.'

'I just don't get it.' I refuse to apologise.

'How well do you get your character's motivation?'

I ponder this for a second. I have no love lost for this weird guy who gets a kick out of playing people.

'He is a self-centred bastard.'

'Oh, well you should do just fine then, just be yourself.'

That catches me right off as I try to replay the words and put more humour in the tone than Kat just delivered.

'Look, Christian, I might be the actor here, but it's Tara you should ask.'

'I was kind of hoping for a simple tick list.'

Kat's sigh whistles in my ear. 'If you believe what I am told on my courses, you can either fake the emotion you need to portray, by remembering how it feels or by studying what it looks like in others.'

'Yep, trying that, not working.'

'Or there's method acting.'

'Hmm hmm...'

'It's when you actually make yourself feel what the character feels. When it becomes yours.'

I don't even get to ponder this, she's on a roll with it.

'I don't like it much myself, unless I have a very fun role, because in the end, it hurts, like, bad. Your mind knows you're pretending, your body doesn't. The hormones or whatever that's released, you're left with it. My teacher swears by it, but then he feeds on emotional rush like a junkie.'

I can't find a thing to say.

'Go and speak to Tara, Christian. I thought you two were best buddies now.'

I don't like the sarcasm in there either.

'Okay,' she says in a rush. 'I've got to go.'

'Thanks,' I barely manage to say before she hangs up.

I think of Tara a lot, generally. It's pathetic but true. Now all I can think of is her, or at least the 'her' she was before her fall.

She could be side stage having an argument, a debate, a kiss even, and then she would step onto the boards and would no longer be herself. The only time I recognised something of her is when she performed the Red Shoes for her Prix de Fonteyn solo, when it became her tribute to our dead friend, when she let the pain that Victoria felt and her own weld together and became one and the same.

She had looked liberated after that.

What would it do to me if I venture into this? If I tried to bind myself with that weirdest of characters? Kill me?

A girl with headpiece sighs in relief as she spots me, crouched low between two large MDF boards.

'They are all waiting for you on stage.'

I sigh in desperation in return and follow her out. I hesitate as we get to a crossroad in the labyrinth. Left for stage, Right for Exit. I hover long enough for the girl to look back and check on me. She's right not to trust me. Running off; I am so used to it. But in the last three years all it has done to me is having to crawl back looking like an idiot. So I swivel and head for the too bright and too fake lights, turning my back on the pure air where I would have found my freedom outside.

It's a right cacophony when we get there, with the dancers are chattering as they limber up on one side and the orchestra tuning on the other.

Within the noise, nobody sees me coming behind them. I smirk at the idea of creeping on the Corps the ballet to give them a fright. That's what Njorki would do. That's actually what he does.

He doesn't care being in anyone's bad book, that's actually what he wants. But I don't, so I just edge along the side to stand beside Wes.

'Sorry about that, needed to get my head round things.'

It's Wes's turn to sigh.

'Let's do this,' I say to placate him. That's when I do my unofficial entrance. The reactions are predictable: shrieks of horror and pouts of disgust. So I smile my brightest grin, strutting to my spot behind the divider. Getting a reaction, that's all Njorki wants, and I am starting to get this.

The noise dies down quickly. They are professionals after all, and now we've got to do our job.

I stare across the stage to the opposite dividers. I imagine Tara standing there, looking at me from over all the heads between us, willing me to do well.

I close my eyes, breathing in slowly and deliberately, trying to become one with that Machiavellian character who so wants to be noticed, and liked, and also revered. Maybe Kat is right, him and me, we are more alike that I would like to admit.

A deeper breath to feed on that reality without thinking of it too much. I will just let this guy be me for a while. Who cares what others think? Njorki wouldn't give a toss what Wayne might have to say, or Wes, Njorki makes his own rules, his own standards.

I wait for my cue, and off we go.

The stage is not finished, but it doesn't matter, it disappears. Luke is still at the front, but somehow I cannot see him, just hear his playing and the way we work together. I can see the corps alright though, and they don't know what's coming at them.

The silence is intense when the scene is over. I refuse to beg for feedback so I scrutinise Wes and Wayne's faces to read in their features. A smile grows on Wes, a corner of Wayne's lips rises.

'Good, much better...'

My breath escapes in a rush, despite the fact that I wasn't even aware I had been holding it in.

'Let's do it again, this time, a bit more commotion in the Corps, please, and Christian, don't forget about the sweep in the battement, ''woosh'', okay.'

Njorki might not care, but now that I am back being me, I do. This man is never, ever going to be happy, is he?


	38. Chapter 38 - Nice

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: It his has not been the smoothest of days: from being covered in mud coloured paint to having to dance a role that stretches his moves and characterisation to maximum capacity, Christian is ready to pack it in._

Nice

Each time we start again I make Tara appear on the other side. Each time it helps. At the end though, when I run off stage after my last dance, it's Maggie who is standing there, still in that same place from when I grabbed my bag off her, looking just as proud as Tara would have been if I had danced my best.

'Wow, like, wow!'

I shrug. I've never been great at taking praise. And she is not a dancer, what does she know? But isn't that what matters most, that dance can actually speak to anyone, knowledge and experience or not? I know nothing of make-up, and yet I know how amazing her work is. Thinking of which: it's been hot under the spot lights, and I've danced my scenes again and again. I should be covered in sweat. This paint should be running off me. But when I look down my chest it's just like it was when I left the make-up room.

'Hey Maggie, I don't mean to be rude but how am I supposed to get this stuff off when it doesn't even smear on the girls' dresses?'

Maggie rummages in her handbag and hands me a massive tub of cream that clearly advertises itself as a solution to nappy rash.

'Rub this all over, then wipe with paper towel, follow that with a warm soapy shower. Don't go easy on the soap either,' she says, very matter of fact, as if she were talking normal make-up removal. 'Oh, and obviously shower here, but I would suggest you wait until everyone else has gone through, and then check yourself before heading out.'

I roll my eyes. Great. All I want to do is finally get out and be free, but no such luck. At least I've done my bit whilst others still need to rehearse their parts. I don't know why Maggie thinks I should wait for everyone but I certainly won't. Not today.

When I do get in the shower it becomes obvious that Maggie wasn't joking. I have to go back in twice to scrub the paint out of every part of my upper body that happens to have hair. I can't even make myself look back at the state I leave the shower in. I just pack my stuff and finally claim my freedom, and there's enough of the day left to make something of it.

The moment I am out I call Tara, but she doesn't answer. Then my phone rings but in my hast I've pressed the green button without noticing the caller's name. Sigh.

'Hi Zach.'

'Hey Christian, wow, lucky me, I was dreading getting your voicemail again.'

'What's up?'

'When can you come and see me? I need to talk to you about something.'

'Now?'

'Great, see you in ten then?'

'Something like that.' No rest for the wicked, I should have added. And no respite, when all I wanted was to be with Tara as soon as possible, to spend the evening chilling, one more time before my life turns into a dancing frenzy.

Just the thought makes me reluctant to even talk to her about my acting inabilities. After all she is such a natural she might not even know what she does that turns her into another character just by stepping under the spotlights. And she hates talking about anything to do with dance nowadays, so much so that she knows nothing of this character I'm supposed to portray.

With a heavy chest I ride down in the opposite direction to where I would like to be going and park right by the entrance of the National Academy of Dance. If I get a fine, Zach can pay it.

I stride through the Academy where a few students are lingering or doing their own work in the studios after class. I don't recognise anyone. It's as if I have been a student there ages ago, not just five months. But they all stare and hush their voices, as if they know me, as if I am already that famous. Or maybe I still got paint on. My hands go straight to my forehead, but only find smooth enough skin there, and my reflection on the windows is definitely me.

I hurry to the offices level, but then I hear her voice. My nose fills with the herbal scent of her shampoo and the tangy one of heat cream, which is crazy because she sounds too far away.

Still, I follow their lead to find Tara in studio 3. Ethan's there too, his elbow resting against hers on the barre they both lean on. In the middle is Masukio, in his compulsory tights and t-shirt uniform.

'So when you do your developé, extend the frame more, it's more expressive like that, lighter,' Tara says.

'Yes, and the same when you turn,' Ethan adds. 'It's a soft piece, and it will help soften the movement.'

A tight fiery mixture bubbles in my stomach and erupts in painful explosion in my throat. They wanted jealousy on stage, and it hadn't want to come out easily, but how swiftly it rears its head now. No holding it back.

I stride in. 'Everyone.'

'Hey Christian! How are you?' Tara asks with a gentle smile.

'Great,' I lie, although it's pointless, I must look like thunder. 'What's happening here? I thought you were Ballet phobic now?'

'I have lead role for production,' Masukio answers as he turns again and again. 'Ethan and Tara help.'

He has just said that as if there's nothing unusual about it, but that can't be. Tara is avoiding anything to do with ballet but her exercising. She refused to go and see the last Company production even if I had been given prime tickets. She said she couldn't cope with it. Well, she can cope when it's with these two, obviously.

I raise my eyebrow at Tara, but she refuses to make eye contact with me.

The bubbles threaten to completely boil over, so I direct my attention on her ex. That jealousy, it's all his fault. 'And what are you doing here, Ethan?'

He just shrugs, a tiny jolt of the shoulders. But that's my signature move, so it riles me no end.

'Zach asked me to help choreograph the mid-year production.'

That humility should reassure me, but I hate it. The proud, in-your-face Ethan I am used to is easy to deal with. This washcloth version, I don't what to do with it.

I snort. 'Zach has found his new desperate case to replace me, then.'

'Christian!' Tara remonstrates me as if she doesn't know how him and I are together. But Ethan, instead of parrying back, just nods.

Tara places a hand on his shoulder as if to attenuate his hurt. And I see red.

'Bit of a drop from being the all promising choreographer in Spain, no?'

At last I am getting some glint in his eyes and some tightening in his jaw. But then he glances at Tara, who smiles so kindly at him it makes me gag, then he takes a big breath. 'No one said it would come easy.' And he shrugs again, and not even to wind me up. A real one. What the heck is happening? Where is his fire? Is behaving like this for Tara?

I'm about to attack again, anything to get another reaction than this limp excuse, but Masukio is pulling me by the shoulders.

'Christian, help me with that.'

And he plants me right in front of him.

'Ah, there you are.' I turn to find Dr Whicks peering through the door. 'I'm ready for you.'

Tara nods, throws me a careful glance and follows her out.

'If you've got it, Christian, I'm going to go too. I've got to check something with costume design.'

'No, I...' But he is already gone.

Masukio stares at me. He is at least a full head and shoulder taller than me, so when he looks down it's like he is the adult and I'm just a kid. 'You like Tara.'

I really want to pretend being shocked. But why should I deny it? Even if he is now Tara's friend and he ends up telling her, she would not believe it, or even worst, ignore it.

Still, I say nothing.

'Fight with Ethan no way to go. Make you look silly.'

I'd like to shove him off my case, but he is so calm and gentle, an Asian angel.

'Tara don't like silly.'

'I know.'

'So you be grown up, you be nice, Tara see nice, Tara like nice.'

And I think of Ben, whom she once described as nice and uncomplicated. Is that what Ethan is going for? I will never be 'nice and uncomplicated', but at least I can try to be more respectful.

'Fair.' I keep my eyes on his feet, still in first position even though we are just standing there talking.

Then my phone rings. Saved by Zach, again. It's not that I am trying to be unhelpful but I doubt I have anything to teach this boy. I saw him dance, he is technique personified, and there's no way I can help anyone with characterisation right now.

'Sorry, Mate, I got to go.'

I find Zach in his office and it is not much better than when I last saw it, which thinking about it was ages ago.

'Ah, at last. Sit.'

I would love to stay right where I am, balking at his order, but to be honest I'm shattered, so I just do it.

Zach pushes files and papers from one pile to another, then finally sits down.

'Sorry, I'm a bit sharp at the moment. They have finally found a new head for the Academy, but there's loads to sort out before I can hand over without my pride and professionalism being shattered to the ground.' He mops some invisible sweat off his brow. 'How are you?'

'Okay.'

He rises an eyebrow.

I sigh. 'This has not been my best day and curtain is up in two days, so...'

'Why? What's up?' he asks, his elbows now unevenly spread over two piles to get closer to me, ever the caring teacher. I wonder sometimes what I will have to do to make him drop that role.

'Nothing to worry about right now. What can I do for you? You called me after all.'

'Ah yes, let's get this over and done with. The paperwork is finally ready for the Memorial, which is incredibly bad timing seeing that you are about to be dancing nearly every night for the next month. The pay is not what I was hoping we could offer you.' He slides a paper in my direction.

No, it's not a lot, but it'll have to do. 'I'll just have to carry on being a life guard on the side, no problem.'

'I might have another offer.' Zach stares at me for a second. 'Although it won't be that much more, to be honest.'

From the way his body shakes his feet must be beating a fast stress-filled rhythm under the desk.

'Go on.'

Zach reclines again, still gauging me. 'I am sure you remember the strong reactions from the student body when the board decided to cancel the alternative dance lessons that were once available during your first year here.'

'Ye-es,' I answer cautiously.

'Well the tide is turning again.'

'Hmm hmm.' That's not much of an answer but inside my head words are jostling. _Where is he going with this? Surely he is not considering me? No, Cheds, get that out of your mind. You tutoring disadvantaged kids, that can be tolerated, but teaching Academy students when you're just out of it yourself? No, don't you dare dream, Cheds, don't you dare_...

'Wilson who taught you is currently in the US, so we can't count on him for HipHop.'

I keep singing my mantra in my head. Above it comes the picture of Wilson who was so good. No surprises he is moving up. He's choreographed many music videos here, for big names, it's logical he should immigrate for a while. My disobedient mind pictures me in his footsteps. I smash that thought and refocus on looking politely interested in the conversation.

Zach pauses.

'I've seen what you've done here in your little illegal classes. Would you consider doing that again, but over board this time?'

I gulp, my heart beating in my ears, distorting the sound so badly that I cannot be sure that I heard right, but my brain somehow cannot come up with an alternative word-sound association.

'Me?'

'It would be for six hours a week, one hour sessions. Your recent qualification as a dance teacher covers the requirement, and you would be great, I truly believe it.'

It's too good to be true. Surely someone's going to shake me out of this dream and let me crash back to reality. The board, probably. So I might as well check now. 'And the board?'

Zach smiles, so widely he could hook the corner of his lips to his ears. 'It actually was Natasha Willis who suggested you. She is the Chair now.'

Kat's mother, who was the worst teacher I had ever come across in my life, and I had met a few, and who had belittled Tara so badly behind her back? That Natasha Willis?

'And this would be the freelance pay for it.'

He pushes another piece of paper towards me.

I stare at him. 'Teachers here get paid this much for six hours!'

Zach laughs at my reaction, a warm-hearted laughter that suddenly eases the tension that had been weighing down in my body.

'You know there's a difference between free-lance and full-time positions. It's the same here, you get better pay for the unpredictability. But don't be fooled,' he added. 'You would earn them. Teaching is not just about turning up. It means having a curriculum to teach, teaching it, assessing and grading the students. HipHop will be part of the secondary set of classes, but will count in the overall grade. This is a very serious post. You might want to think about this carefully.'

And there I sit completely unable to make his warning take weight. Planning? Assessing? Walk in the park, right?

'And if you wanted to take on another production, with The Company or other, you would have to find your own replacement.'

It's my turn to smile. 'As if there's any risk of that happening.'

Zach smirks as if he completely expected my reactions.

That riles me up, of course, the idea that I might actually be that predictable or that he knows me so well that he might know me better than I know myself.

'We shall see. Right, I am already late for my dinner with my in-laws, so I better not stay any longer. Think about it, and let me know within the next week. Natasha is really pressing to get this going before the new Head comes. And I agree with her on that.'

He stands up and shakes my hand in goodbye. 'Future colleague,' he says as his parting comment leaving me once against stunned.

I somehow must have got out of the office and erred in the Academy building without realising for I find myself at the very end of the building, by the last studio. I track back to find Tara coming down the stairs, slowly, with Ethan in tow, the both of them as thick as thieves.

'Well, hello you,' I greet them, sounding like a snarling bulldog, but I am stopped before I make even more of a fool of myself by a big great whack at the back on my head.

Masukio passes me by, his sports bag on his shoulder, his weapon of choice. 'Nice,' he whispers, winks, and gets out, saying in a louder voice. 'See you tomorrow, Tara?'

'Sure thing,' and she smiles that beaming grin on hers that twists my stomach.

Ethan screws his eyes at me, then snakes his arm across Tara's back and leans in for a kiss on her cheek.

That surprised look she gives him makes me smile so wide it hurts my cheekbones.

'See you tomorrow too, then,' he chants as he leaves.

'Yes,' she answers so simply that it clearly is no big deal to her. Nothing like the crazy behaviour she displayed when she was all over him in first year.

She turns and looks at me, finally sheepish.

'So what's this all about?'

'I'm just helping Masukio. He asked me,' she adds quickly.

'And Dr Whicks?'

Tara blushes. Why the heck is she blushing?

'She's helping me out.'

'She is?'

'Yes, she saw me in the studio the other day with Masukio, and she offered to give me a check up.'

I am trying hard to ignore the fact that she has been helping Masukio for what sounds like a while when she refuses to have anything to do with Ballet when it comes to me. It got to the point that I can barely tell her about what is happening at The Company. I brush this aside to focus on this news though.

'What does she say?'

Tara sighs, rubbing her lower back with both her hands. By the look of it she is not wearing her brace.

'I'm tired, Christian, could we talk about this later?'

I nod, even though I'd love to remind her that we normally have dinner together, and that I really don't want to go my poky bedsit, not that I can truly admit to that.

'Are you walking me home?' she asks, and my heart leaps.

'Sure thing.' And then I remember my bike which I have parked in both an illegal and unsafe place. 'I've got my bike though. I could meet you back there.'

Tara's lips get all pinched, the way she does when she is thinking, and all I want to do is caress them with the very tip of my finger to smooth them down.

'Maybe it's time you took me for a ride...'

'You! You on my bike?' My heart is suddenly sprinting against the hold of my ribcage. 'Is that even possible?'

And here comes the blush again, stronger even now. 'I think so.' She casts her eyes down as if she's worried I might read something she doesn't want me to see in them. Then she looks up again with a self-deprecating crooked grin. 'I looked it up.'

'What? Motorbike riding for the injured?'

She shoves me with her shoulder for my cheek. 'Yes, actually.'

'And?'

'I wouldn't suggest it if the doctors didn't think it would be alright. Dr Whicks puts me on the bikes here and she does say that it should work but that I need to be ready to give up on the idea if the vibrations,' Tara coughs as if that's embarrassing her, 'get too much. So you'd have to stop straight away if it doesn't work.'

'I'll go very carefully.'

'I know you will.'

My day started on a fluttery high, crashed down in the muddy pit, roughed it on a rocky road and is finally getting me on a smooth ride up, up, up.

 **Author's note: I wanted to thank everyone who is still reading this even though the posting has been a bit hit and miss of late. I really want to sort that out as we are getting closer and closer to the end. Thank you.**

 **A particular Thank You for the reviewers. It might sound silly but when others enjoy my work and let me know, it really drives me to keep going!**


	39. Chapter 39 - Listen

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian had a trialling day being covered in brown and green muck and underperforming at the dress rehearsal. Add to this the thrill of being asked to teach HipHop at the academy and the crush of seeing Tara all pally-pally with Ethan and helping out Masukio with his dancing when she refuses to help him with his and you get a pretty messed up day. But Christian cannot even think of all this anymore as he readies to take Tara on her first bike ride._

Listen

Tara hooks her arm through mine as we make our way out the Academy and I'm the one flying. But it's when I get to my bike that I want to kick myself.

For months I have been holding back on buying a second helmet. I couldn't pass by a bike shop and not think of it. But what would have been the point? It's not as if I had any hope to ever need one. Yet now I do need one and wish I had been a bit more daring, a bit more trusting, a bit more of a gambler.

I glance at my bike, seeing it from Tara's point of view: the spare parts that are not of the original make and had come with scratches, the paint scuffed on the side, the seat patched up with tape. I love my bike, I worked hard on it. It had come as such an unexpected present, and it serves me well, but right that moment it was hard to find thankfulness under the embarrassment.

Tara peers at it with wide eyes, though. I doubt she sees the details. By her reluctance to go near it she clearly views it as a monster, scratches or not. It's so narrow and sporty compared to her beloved, sturdy and stable quad bikes from the farm.

Her lips tighten, her eyes narrowing with determined focus as she approaches, laying her hand on the handle bar.

'I'll go on first, Tara, so that I can keep you steady. Then you can climb on the back.'

Tara stares at me as if I had just spoken gibberish.

I take off my leather jacket, the very same one they gave me last year for my nineteenth, and hold it up for Tara to slide her arms in. Then I unlock my helmet and slowly fit it on her head. It has not cleared her nose that she makes to pull it off. 'You need to wear this.'

I shake my head as I push it down till I can see her eyes. 'Strictly speaking we both need to wear one, but we are not going far and I will be very careful. If something does go wrong, so be it, I can live with being injured, I couldn't live with you getting anymore hurt.'

I quickly turn around and climb on, anything to avoid seeing her reaction. I don't know what took me to say this. I'm tired, sure, but still. I push the bike off its stand and balance it up, extending my hand up towards her like we have done thousands of time in our pas-de-deux classes.

And yet she still doesn't move, but just stares at it as if it is an unworkable puzzle. Maybe there's too much memory there. Maybe she's doubting her choices. Maybe she cannot see how on earth she might get her leg over to the other side. Maybe I should have let her on first. Maybe I am being an idiot.

Just as I am about to get off again Tara takes a big breath, holds my hand, wedge her knee right at the fold of my hip to find purchase and lifts herself high up against my back then slides behind me with a clean sweep I would not have believed her capable of, not from the exercises that I still help her with, when I can. How much progress has she been hiding from me?

Her arms snake around my waist, and my mind goes blank. What was I just thinking about? Exercises? I can't tell. All that matters are her hands on me, her chest against my back, my helmet protecting her head and resting hard against mine. I could stay like this for a very long time.

But that would be weird, way too weird, so I turn on the ignition.

'Oh!' she gasps, clinging even closer to me.

'Okay?' I ask.

The helmet rubs against my neck. She must be nodding.

'I'll go slowly. Squeeze me really hard if you want me to stop.'

A muffled giggle comes from behind me. 'I think I'm gonna be holding tight no matter what.'

Her laughing relaxes me no end. 'Okay, shout then.'

'I might do that too anyhow.'

'Just find a way, I'm sure you'll find a way.'

'Bashing your head with the hard thing protecting my skull and not yours would be ill-advised, right?'

'Ill-advised, yes. Maybe pinch.'

A sharp pain bursts right under my stomach. 'Like this,' she says with a tight little laugh.

'I'm sure that'll do, yes.'

'Okay, let's do this.'

I rev up and release the clutch. Slowly, much more slowly than I'm used to, off we set. She was right about her the tightness of her hold, but it's laughter that comes out of her mouth, not a scream. 'Oh my goodness!'

I like the sound of that very much, too much.

We get to her flat with my belly un-pinched.

Once again she lifts herself up to rest her knee on my hip flexor and gets off. The second she touches solid ground she removes the helmet, handing it to me so that she can rearrange her hair. The bowl-like thing that normally stinks of a mix of plastic and sweat is filled with the smell of her shampoo. I wish I could wrap it up with cling film to trap the scent in. The ride home will be so weird, that smell in my nose, my lips where hers have just been.

'Are you not coming up for some food?' Tara asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

'Oh, I'm coming, I'm famished.'

It takes for us to be all the way into the flat before I find the courage to ask. 'How was it?'

Tara beams. 'Loved it.'

'No pains? No weird vibrations?'

'Weird vibrations, yes, but good ones, I guess.' Pink rushes to her cheeks again. 'Pain, absolutely not.'

'I was worried about how you would climb on. I expected you would lean on me, not use me as a ladder.'

'Did you mind?'

'Are you joking, of course not, I thought it was genius.'

A wide smile spreads on her face. 'I know, though I can't claim the genius as mine.'

I raise an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes.

'Internet,' we say at the same time.

Tara giggles. 'Yes, good old internet, the source of all wisdom.'

'And all human silliness.'

'Yes, that too.' Tara stifles a laugh with her hand. 'Do you remember the 'chicken pox'?'

I laugh and together we start singing Ollie's rap.

'You can call it silly all you like but look at us, it's been more than a year and we still remember it!'

'I never thought it was silly, I love it,' she said before continuing with the chorus on a loop as she gets some ingredients from the fridge and I get some pots and pans out.

Tara's road to learning how to cook has been interesting to say the least but now she has the same safe recipes that keep on coming back, and I have cooked so many with her that I only have to look at the mince in her hands to know that we are on for a quick chili con carne.

Look at us, being all domesticated, we could be flatmate. I sleep on the couch often enough, but all I have of mine here is the tooth brush she has bought for me, a towel and a bag of spare clothes at the bottom of one of the shelves. Not that I'm complaining. It is so much more than I thought I would get.

'How was your appointment with Dr Whicks?' I ask as I pour some rice to boil.

'Oh yes, I meant to ask you: what were you doing at the Academy?'

I want to hold my ground and not let her change topic, but I have an inkling that even if I tried she wouldn't let me. Tara loves talking and she can be hard to stop at times, but when she is unwilling to speak, there is no budging her either. I know that too well.

'Zach wanted to speak to me.' There. If you want to know more, you will have to fish for it.

'About the Memorial, I presume.'

'Yes.'

'Hmm hmm.'

What? That's her reply? ''Hmm hmm''?

And there she stands, mid stirring the spices in, with a gentle smile, waiting for me to say more. No fishing in sight.

I want to hmm hmmm right back at her. See how she would enjoy that conversation, but her eyes are so kind, so inviting.

'He finally had the papers for me to get started. Couldn't have been poorer timing.'

'That must be frustrating.'

I glance to check whether she is mocking me, but no, her face is still so open.

'Yes and no. It was predictable. It was always going to be a clash with taking a job with The Company. And the building work has gone on anyway, with my recommendations, of course.' Oh God, I'm gloating.

'Hmm hmm.'

'At least I will be able to use it before the official opening, as soon as I come back from that blasted tour.'

'You are not looking forward to it.'

I glance again. What is wrong with her? She would never normally let me get away with being so negative, so judgmental. Tara hates when I slate anything to do with dance, even those pesky stretches she helps me with. It's like her and Ethan have had their personalities wiped cleaned and replaced by this bland brand of nothingness.

'No, I'm not,' I burst out, maybe to even out the weirdness. 'I'm having hell with it, Tara.'

'Go on.'

She does seem keen to hear more, though. She even wipes her hands on a clean towel rather than wash them first.

I'm not a pour-your-heart-out kind of guy. I never pour anything out. Unless I am angry. But then angry is exactly what I am. 'I can't get my head round my character, as if the moves are not tough enough, now they want me to act, and it looks like I'm useless at that too.'

I fully expect Tara to put her hand on my shoulder and reassure me that it's not true, but no. All she does is nod. 'You've mentioned before that it's a tough role.'

'It's more than that, Tara. I've never had to act before.'

Tara tilts her face, her lips and eyes pinched. Finally I am getting a Tara reaction.

'I never really had to. Remember? First year, the Mouse King? The huge papier-mâché head? There was none of the facial expression or whatever they are asking of me now. My solos, they were all show offs, no character. Peter Pan was such a no brainer and we never got to push it to the max.'

I take a deep breath as sorrow scrunches my stomach. I couldn't think of that role without pain hitting me hard. It had been cancelled because of Sammy's accident. I had lost Kat because she had realised I still loved Tara, and it's Ben she had chosen, not me. Yep, pain all around. 'And last year, I was a nurse. A nurse! Comic relief, that's all I was, being a clown.'

'You played Romeo too,' Tara says with great caution, her eyes scrutinising mine before dropping down.

'Playing Romeo, it was easy.'

I want her to look at me again, I want her to ask me why it was easy. Then I would have to tell her. Of course it was easy. I was in love with her. It was doomed. Playing Romeo was as easy as being me, as stupid, as reckless. He killed her. I broke her heart. Again. In a sleepy state she had told me she loved me too, whatever that ''too'' meant back then, and I threw it right back in her face.

Because I wanted to be honourable.

I didn't want to be the selfish one anymore.

She wanted to be rid of her obsession for me and I couldn't agree more. It's what was best for her.

And I wanted to honour her relationship with Ben, Ben who was my friend, Ben who was her boyfriend. Ben who was so good for her, so steadfast, so simple and kind and thoughtful, all those things I couldn't be.

I wanted to spare her heart, and what did I do in the long run but crush it once more, and it had been final. A friend. That's all I could be now.

I wait, begging in my head for her to ask, for her to finally force me to reveal who I am, really, but she doesn't.

'And your new role isn't easy.' That's all she says and that's not even a question, it's a statement.

'Romeo was easy because I was in love with you.'

Well, that escaped easily. And now that the words are out I want to bring them back. Pointless wish. She's heard, and she is even nodding. What does she hear in these words? What does she make of the past tense that is a lie?

'So it was not so much acting as just feeding from that.' Words still rush out, incriminating me further. 'Dancing like that with you was what I wanted in real life. Not the ending, though. The ending is real daft.' Not that our ending was much better... No pathetic deaths at least, just my hopes.

Tara doesn't react. Instead she just sits on a stool, ready to listen to more of my verbal diarrhoea.

'You haven't told me much about your new role.'

And that's it. That is all my declaration brings out of her, a change of subject. One that she has refused to talk about any time I had tried before now.

'Now you want to know?'

'I do.'

The words are right, but where is her excitement? Tara's excited-ness is something that I can find very tiresome, but this calm is worse. And yet it makes me want to talk so much more than the squealing and hand clapping. Before I know it I am spilling all the beans. The strangeness of the tale, of the character. The complexity of the dance, the sudden and unpredictable shifts in moods, the unreliability of the music, for me at least.

I tell her about Luke's contribution, about Wes's patience and Wayne's exigence. I even tell her about imagining her standing at the side of the stage, willing me to do well, and how it works. I tell her everything and throughout she sits, she nods, smiles, hums, as if she's in the conversation without ever actually contributing to it.

'So, yeah, tough it is.'

'I see.'

And with that, she gets up, serves the rice, piles up the chili on top and hands me a plate.

I end up with an empty head, a plate full, absolutely no clue as to what has just happened and even less about what to do next.


	40. Chapter 40 - Forced

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian is on high after riding with Tara on his bike. But what he had to confront after that was a Tara completely out of character, who listens instead of speak... And instead of blocking him off, he actually ends up pouring his guts out, well, some of it._

Forced

I have just finished my plate, Tara still nibbling at her food even though she had half my portion, when the door slams open so quickly that I nearly fall off my stool in surprise.

'Hiya,' Abigail says with a bright smile till she spots me. 'What are you doing here?'

'Having diner,' Tara answers before I can.

'Hm, I see. So when did you actually move in?' She asks with a raised eyebrow.

'What? No-'

Abigail checks Tara's reaction from the corner of her eye and then returns to scrutinising me. 'I thought that's what the toothbrush, the extra towels and blanket, and that bag over there, might be about.'

And looking from that perspective, I understand her conclusion. 'No, I'm just crashing here sometimes that's all -'

'As if. I'm not an idiot, Christian.'

'Abigail, what he is saying is completely true.'

Abigail swivels to look squarely at Tara. 'Hmm,' she pouts, 'Well good. Having one un-contracted roomy is already stretching things a bit, two might be just too much.' She smiles and goes to her room, leaving Tara and I to stare at each other in speechless silence.

Then she returns tossing something tinkly and shiny at Tara, who only just catches it. A set of keys.

'When you think I got those cut ages ago, before I went on tour in February. I wasn't very happy about the idea that you might be alone in here, you know, if something happened and all. Unfounded, of course. Still, he might as well have them, if you want him to.'

Abigail laughs at Tara's stunned face as she grabs a plate and serves herself some food. She takes a bite. 'Hmm Tara this is getting good. But you really should put some vegetables in there, you know, to bulk it out without calories, a bit of green for vitamins-' and then she pauses and scrutinises me some more. 'Talking of green, how did you get yours off?'

'Nappy cream,' Tara answers again for me. So she did listen after all.

'Oh, for ikle baby smooth skin,' she mocks as she reaches toward me.

I move right out of the way. 'To unglue the stuff, more like.'

Abigail pauses with her trademark pout. 'Well at least you did better, by the end.'

'You weren't too bad yourself, at the back, by the curtains,' I snap back.

'Hmm, bit touchy, I see. Well, I'll leave you two love birds to it and go and do some more packing. Tour in one week, Christian. Better be ready for it.'

'We are not-'

'Yeah yeah, whatever,' Abigail sing-songs as she walks off with her plate.

Tara hands me the key with downcast eyes. 'It seems so silly as you are about to go away for a month, but it kind of makes sense.'

I stare at the keys in my hands.

'Abs can be so weird.'

'Hmm mm.'

And the uncomfortable silence is back.

Tara turns to the sink to wash her plate. 'I saw your itinerary.'

That renders me speechless. She checks on our tour that she refuses to talk about?

'You are going to Alice Spring.'

My back tenses at the words. In my head I beg for her to drop it, to not even mention more...

'You might be able to go and see your brother.' She says that as if she is making a shopping list, not trying to convince me that this could be a good idea. She wipes her hand, a bright smile suddenly illuminating her face. 'And your nieces!'

'Tara.'

'I looked, it's completely feasible,' reaches for her laptop, continually present at the far corner of the breakfast bar that is also her desk and eating table.

'Tara.'

'You said you might, remember? At Christmas, you said you might.'

She had drained me of everything I had and now this. I can't cope with the onslaught. 'Tara, stop,' I say through such clenched teeth that it sounds all on one deep menacing tone.

'Okay.'

Well that catches me by surprise. I finally manage to look at her, her face all blushing at the cheeks and yet her eyes are still so resolute.

Her face grows all patient and neutral again. 'Would you tell me why not?'

'I don't want to talk about it, Tara.'

'I know.'

'It's too much.'

'I can see that.'

I shake my head in a ridiculous attempt to clear it of all the horrid memories that come crashing in. 'You were not there, Tara.'

'When your mum passed away.'

'Before that, Tara, and after. He was already gone when she died.'

'I was there.'

'No, you were not!'

'I was there when you came to the Academy because he didn't help you out.'

I huff. 'Tara, you barely knew me.'

'You didn't to let anyone know you.'

I stare at her, sure to see a pedantic look even if her voice didn't sound so. But there is nothing there to see. Just two eyes looking at me as if I were a painting, or a puzzle. I say nothing.

'It's hard to believe he didn't take you in.'

'No Tara, it's not hard to believe at all. He was never there for me. Not when he was in deep shit himself, and certainly not when he got out of it and got himself a normal little life. He dropped me, just like everyone does.'

'No one is dropping you anymore. You seem very much in demand.'

I sigh, reluctantly. 'Maybe so.' It won't last is all that rings in my mind.

'It's hurting you though.'

'What?'

'What happened, when he didn't take you in, it hurt you.'

'What is wrong with you Tara?' I slam the palms of my hand on the table then feel guilty for startling her. But she's pushing me beyond my coping point, anger has been my default for too long. I want to be nice, oh yes I do, but right now I can even muster a shred of it. 'Do you want a prize for stating the obvious? It's not as if it was all surprising, really. But hell yes it still did hurt. He flat out refused me, with Principal Kennedy right in front of me, trying not to pretend to hear a thing. His face though.' I can't bear to even remember that intense pity.

'It still hurts you now.'

I stare. 'Tara, I'm too tired for this.'

Tara nods.

I never expected that.

Tara doesn't give up.

Not this easily.

Not till I completely lose it.

I guess I kind of lost it just now. I stare at her to check that I haven't pushed it too far.

She is smiling. 'Okay, shall we leave the washing up and just go and see what's on TV?'

I don't even answer, I just go for the sofa and crash into it.

She clears the plates, making me feel crap for not doing it, then she comes to join me.

It's only when we have settled for a talk show that she says 'It will hurt till you deal with it.'

And then she just wriggles down into the sofa and pays complete attention to the screen.

I have only just cleared my mind and let it be numbed by the reality show Tara selected when Abigail resurfaces from her room, and suddenly I remember all that was said in very loud voices just a few meters from her, separated only by a thin partition wall. The bag she had over her shoulder is now bulging and full. She drops it by the front door.

'Tara, just to let you know that I'll be saying here this week. Things are a little, well, he probably already told you.' She indicates me with a tilt of her chin. 'I'm off to bed, so be quiet, you two,' she says with that knowing smile that knows nothing at all.

Tara just stares at the screen as if none of all that every happened.

 **Author's note: a short and ''sweet'' one... More to come, hopefully soon. Life is not always very compliant with my writing goals!**


	41. Chapter 41 - Apart

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Abigail gave Tara spare keys for Christian to have, because she is convinced they are dating in secret, which makes things super awkward for them, especially after the tough weird talks they have had of late..._

Apart

Tara isn't there for the opening night.

She isn't there to gasp with the rest of the audience when I make my entrance.

She isn't there when people, all over the stalls, the tier, the gallery, stand up when we take our bows. She doesn't hear how the cheers and applause seem to grow even stronger for my curtain call.

She who knows me so well is not there to spot how the approval is affecting me, how my legs weaken and get wobbly, and not just because they are shattered.

She isn't there.

She doesn't come for any of the Sydney programme.

Anytime anyone talks about the fantastic reviews the show is receiving, that I am receiving, she changes subject. In the end no one talks about it anymore if Tara is there.

I can't bare it. And yet I have to. I pretend I don't care. That it's fine. That this other life of mine, which takes all my time and energy, can be left aside the moment she is around.

She is there though when we all pile up inside shared taxis to take us to the airport, ready to set off. She hugs Abigail and Ollie, even kissing Wes's cheek. She hugs me too, maybe a little harder. There even are tears in her eyes. I can't be sure why.

Will she miss me that much? Or does she just fear loneliness? But she will have Ethan and Masukio, her visits at the Academy to help out with their stuff, and her sessions with Dr Whicks. Ballet is fine with them. It's just a complete taboo with everyone else.

I rummage through these memories as I flip my phone again and again in my hand, my body, heavy and tired from the travelling, wallowing deep within the hotel's overly soft mattress.

What would be the point of calling her?

To have more mundane conversations over nothing?

To tell her that the reception has been as warm out there as it has been in Sydney when she didn't want to hear about it back then?

To say that Abigail and Wes are finding it tough to be so much in each other's presence at the moment? She would talk about that, or listen at least, but I don't want to discuss other people's struggles with their relationships. My situation is pathetic enough.

I want to tell her that I am really growing into this character. That this is nothing like our little productions where we played once at the end of each year, and even not like our Romeo and Juliet tour, because here we play in the biggest theatres, the entourage is at least as big as the company of dancers, with truck loads of scenery.

Not that we will be using much of it for this one. The Company normally never goes to such a small town as Alice Springs. But we have a new patron, it would seem, and that means that we are going, small theatre or not. I want to tell her that this will very much be like our third year tour: tiny communal changing rooms, no treatment rooms, and no orchestra pit. We are going to dance to an audio track.

Of course that makes me want to tell her how much I miss Luke anyway. How all the other double bassoonists who play cannot quite get the nuances Luke and I had built with each other. I want to share how it feels to be in my body and yet it is Njorki who is really in it, with me, as I become him, as I get to feel all that it does, and that I am finally loving it.

I even want to pour over all the blisters or how the paint got in my eye yesterday and it burnt like hell. How Maggie is a star, not just in the make-up department, but how she is like a mother to us all.

I don't want to tell her that I am the outsider, still. Ollie has made new pals - well, one in particular- ; Abi is being herself and therefore aloof; Wes is so tense, all the time; Wayne seems to be constantly in thinking and creating mode, and therefore far away from everyone; all the dancers have known each other for yonks, and I don't really care. I have no problems with being on my own. But she would not approve. She would tell me to go and make friends.

And if I call her now I wouldn't even have to tell her that we are in Alice Springs, where she knows my brother now lives, thanks to the photos and info Raf sent at Christmas when he visited. She knows and will tell me to go and see him. She would know from the schedule I foolishly gave her that tomorrow is also a day of rest, if we can call it that. I have no excuses not to go, the way she would see things. And she would be right about that. I would have very little excuses not to, apart from the fact that it's the last thing I want to do.

Her words play and replay in my head. ''It will hurt till you deal with it.''

I dial, fuming over those words as the phone rings at the other end. I might want to avoid that talk, but I haven't called her since Tuesday. I am a junkie for her voice. That's how pathetic I've become.

'Christian! How are you? It's been days!'

'It's been two days, Tara. I was too shattered last night and we had such an early departure, I just went straight to sleep.'

'Oh, yes, I see. Are you well now?'

'Yes, you?'

'Yes, yes, good. it's good to hear from you.'

 _Not that you really want to hear what I have got to say_ trots in my mind.

'Where are you now? Oh wait, let me look... oh.'

'Yes, oh.'

'Are you-?'

'In Alice Springs. Yes.'

'Are you-?'

'He doesn't want to see me.'

'Oh. You did call him.'

I sigh. 'No I didn't.'

'So you don't know!'

I chew my inner cheek to calm down.

'Christian, what are you worried about?'

'What?'

'What's the worst that could happen?'

My heart squeezes tight before thoughts can form in my head, as if to distract it, as if just thinking would be too bad.

'I mean, it's not as if he can refuse to see you.'

'Yep, that he could. He 's done it before.'

'Well if he does that would be his loss.'

'Whatever.' I don't sound that sure about it at all.

'What are you really worried about?'

I have tried to avoid that train of thought like chin splints. But now that she says it, it floods my mind and it hurts like hell.

'That I can't get past how much I hate him.'

'Is it really that bad?' She is asking, but she sounds shocked, as if hating one's sibling is impossible... but then she's an only child.

'He left me in so much shit, Tara.'

'I know.'

And I guess she does know what that's like. She's been left in pretty big messes herself, by me included.

'I couldn't cope with it, Tara. The faking, the being polite, and then in the end it would be the same. No contact, no seeing each other, nothing for years till what? His kids get married and then the long lost uncle might be invited?'

'Or it could get better?'

That's the one thing I can't make myself think of. I don't want it to get better. That would mean forgiving him. And I am so not ready for that. 'Hard to imagine.'

'What is he like?'

'I don't know anymore. It's been too long.'

'Three years?'

'Five, Tara. Five, when I was just fifteen.'

'And you have changed so much.'

I guess I have.

'Come on, Christian, it can't be bad enough not to give it a try.'

'Maybe not.' My voice has come out all croaky, and I am convincing no one with my attempt at nonchalance.

'What else, Christian?'

I swallow hard. It would be so much easier to just use Tara's technique and change subject altogether. We could play a little game: I switch to talking about my dancing, she'll change to talk about Ethan, then I could segue into the boredom of travel, she could chat about the weather, but where would that leave us?

'What if he's the one who tries to be all polite and can't stand the sight of me?'

'Why would he? You have turned your life around completely. He should be proud of you. Ashamed to have let you down, sure too, but proud of you. Surely.'

'Tara. He was a miner. He is now a trucker. Dance is for poofs.'

'No, he won't think that way!'

'Want to bet?'

'Well if he gets to be such an idiot you'll have to put him on the phone to me, I'll set him straight.'

I smile, I can't help it. Tara can look terrifying when she is angry, but over the phone, with her voice pitching so high, she sound as dangerous as a meowing kitten.

'Maybe you're right, he is not worth your visiting time.'

That makes me laugh: she had to come to the defence of Ballet to become petulant.

'Tara, you're right.'

No, Christian, I didn't mean it. You still-'

'I mean you're right. I will try to go and see him.'

'You will?'

'Even if it turns to the worst, at least I will know.'

'Exactly.'

That self-assured tone, it grates me a little. 'So, what does Dr Whicks say about your back?' I retaliate.

'I, I-'

'Even if it turns to the worst, one day or another you will have to know,' I quote right back at her, because she's right about that at least.

'I'm haven't asked her. Not properly. Not about ... you know. I'm working on it.'

'Okay.'

'Maybe I'll wait till you come back.'

My heart thumps like crazy in my chest. She wants me there. She wants me by her side when she does face the facts. And I will be there.

'Okay.'

'Call me tomorrow, alright? As soon as you can.'

'He might not even be home, Tara.'

And for some reason that very thought is the one that hurts the most.

I am back to fiddling with my phone. Finding his number only to then go back to main screen. Time and again. And then I press the green phone icon.

'Hey Raf.'

'Christian, hey! Good to hear from you.'

'I'm on tour at the moment. I-'

'I know. I read all about it.'

'You- what?'

'I didn't want to bother you and all, but the reviews, they are smashing!'

'Oh.'

'Oh come on, are you trying to tell you haven't read them? I've got them cut out, well the ones I read at least.'

'They're not all good.'

'Really? The Australian and the Telegraph's were fantastic. I mean, I didn't understand all the jargon and all, but I got the gist. They loved it. They said you were superb.'

'The Art Rev wasn't so glowing, but then the guy who wrote about it seems to have a dislike for modern stuff, so...'

'I read they're adding two more dates, when you're back in Sydney...'

'Yeah, I heard that too,' I try to joke. But my stomach is in knots. Surely he doesn't want to come, does he?

'Would you mind if... you know, if it's not too much bother, and if there're tickets left, you know...'

'Are you sure?'

'Come on, Christian. Sure, I am sure. You can't rely on Tara to keep on telling me when you're on. And get me tickets to all your stuff. You are going to have to tell me yourself, you know.'

'Well, okay, I'll see what I can do.'

'Okay. So, what can I do for you?'

And there we are. One minute he says I should call him to tell him my news and the next he is asking what I might be needing that requires a phone call.

'I am in Alice Spring.'

'Oh, you're going to see Andrew.'

I wasn't expecting Raf to call him by his full name. He has always been just Drew to me and Mum, unless he was in trouble. I guess he was often in trouble.

'I was thinking about it.'

'Oh you should, Christian, his kids, they're great.'

I didn't expect to hear such warmth in his voice. Sure he had sent Christmas photos and had looked happy enough. Right now it sounds like he is beaming. A bit late to find a love for little kids. Shame he didn't get that one fixed when he had us.

'Christian?'

'I'll need his address, and his phone number I guess.'

'Oh, yeah sure. I'll text them to you, shall I?'

All the warmth of the conversation is gone. If I can't even be chilled and forgiving when I am talking to my father with whom I have repaired some of the bridges, how the heck am I expecting to cope with seeing my abandoning brother whom I haven't talked to since my trial? And when we had talked then, it was only because he wanted me out of his conscience and with our family name restored. Not that he cared about that when he had to leave Sydney in a great big hurry...

'Okay, yeah.'

'And you'll get me a ticket, right, I don't even care if I have to stand.'

'No one stands, Raf.'

'You know what I mean.'

'Sure, will try.'

'Good luck, Son.'

My breath sticks in my lungs. He has never called me that before.

'Thanks.' I guess.

 **Author's note: Dear readers, feel free to give me some feedback, that really helps us writers to keep writing and get better at it, hopefully ;-)**


	42. Chapter 42 - Bro

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian is finally off on tour, and he misses Tara so much, although not so much when she insists he should go and see his estranged brother... She makes sense, of course, but that doesn't make the whole idea any easier._

Bro

The night has passed and I am back to toying with my phone. I hover over the dial button only to then swipe through all the apps screens. I'm so all over the place that I end up dialling then scrambling to turn the whole phone off, just in case.

When I do gather up my courage, a few minutes later, I have to fiddle and wait for it to wake up again, and waiting has never been something I've been good at. After much finger drumming till the screen is back to operational, my resolve is all but gone.

I close my eyes and try out some visualising. Tara's face come up swiftly, encouraging me to just bite the bullet and do it. And then I try to imagine what my brother will look like after five years since the last time I saw him when he had run out of the house with a full bag on his back, the money I had saved stashed somewhere in there.

It's only now that I realise there had been plenty photos of the kids when Raf sent them over Christmas, none of the adults. Has he grown his crew cut to something softer, like I'm letting my hair reach for my chin? Has he finally lost that tight knot between his eyebrow that always gave him a scheming distrusting look, even at one thing he is bound to still have is his scar. No matter how far he runs, he could never change or hide it. The point had been to mark him for life. A deep red line from his brow to his chin certainly did that.

A deep breath. Another one. And dial.

One ring, two... and I just want to repeat the turn off process. But I force my fingers to be still, for my breath to remain steady.

Three, four.

'Hello?'

A female voice.

'Oh, Hi. Could I speak to Drew, please?'

'You must have a wrong number, there's no one with this name here.'

It could be true. Maybe Raf gave me the number wrong. Maybe I made a slip as I saved it. But no. There's that tell tale shake in her voice. She's lying.

'I'm Christian, Raf gave me this number.'

'Oh.'

And that's it? Oh?

'Wait a second.'

And here I am again, pacing in my tiny hotel room from the window all around the bed to the cupboard and back again. And all the while she has gone nowhere, I can still hear her breathing on the other side.

'Look I just want to talk with him. there's no issue, just a catch up between brothers. Nothing more.' No, nothing more. I will never again need my brother for anything.

And still she makes me wait. For what? Who knows?

'He should be back in half an hour,' she finally answers.

'I'm in town for the day. Do you think I could come over?'

'I don't know.' The woman sighs, a long painful one, as if making that decision carries a weight much heavier than just allowing someone to come for an hour or so.

'I know things have not been great between us, I just want to catch up a bit and be out of your lives again. A peace offering, that kind of thing. I won't be any trouble.' I plead like I did three years before... I have to stop myself from adding that I'm great with kids. I have as much experience with little ones as I had then.

'I don't like it. Look, Christian. Come over if you want. I can't promise how he will greet you. Just remember, he is Patrick here, not Drew. No one must know him as Drew here. Understood? Not even the kids.'

Patrick. Patricia. Trisha. My mum. Our mum. He has taken her name. Between the sting in my eyes and the clench of my fists I can't process how this is making me feel. One thing for sure if that I hate him for stealing that name from me, for appropriating it for himself, but I can't help but think she would be honoured. And I hate him for that even more.

'If that's what he wants to be called, so be it.'

'Have you got our address?'

'Yes.'

'I'm gonna have to have a word with Raf over this. Look, okay, come when you want this afternoon. He has a job tonight though, so not too late.'

A job. Just the word gives me cold sweat. But she is saying it like it really nothing to worry about. Maybe a job is just a job for him nowadays.

'Okay.' I have become the dumb one word answer guy again. I kick myself out of it. 'I'll come around two, and I won't stay long. Thank you.'

'Don't thank me until you've lived it,' she says with a sighs before hanging up.

Great.

I get the taxi to stop a few numbers down and get out, all the while cursing the guy at the bike shop for not letting me rent one for the afternoon so that I could do a recce around first, and have a quick emergency exit route too. I'm being unfair, of course. It was not his fault that I've left my license behind. Nor that they didn't exactly do rentals in the first place.

It's hot out in the midday sun, but still not enough to explain away the sweat pooling in the palms nor the dryness in my mouth. Up I walk along the road of flat houses and dry grass gardens. Such a huge clash with the massive tower blocks that have been my homes.

I stop by the post box. Mr and Mrs Ketuma. Reed is not good enough for him either, it would seem.

Unless I've got it wrong. I look around. There's only one cab of what would be a massive truck in the whole street, and it's parked right there. Nothing else could tell me my brother lives behind those walls, especially not the ethnic curtains hanging in the windows.

Another deep breath, which makes me smile a bit. Maybe I am turning into a deep diver or something.

I knock. A stampede of little feet sounds ahead of a booming voice. 'Go back to your mother!'

'No, you take them, I'll get the door,' the same voice I had on the phone this very morning answers back.

She is tall and slim, skin even redder than mine, hair as black and straight, just much longer. I don't want to think too much of the dark circles under her eyes. Young kids, tough life, or just being married to my brother? I cast those guesses aside as a tiny little person in vest top and nappy comes toddling behind her.

'Naya! Come back here!' My brother roars from another room.

'Come in,' the woman grabs my arms and pulls me in, scanning the street on both sides before closing the door shut behind me, security locks included. 'I'm Eva,' she then says, her hand extended towards me.

'Christian.'

'Yeah, I know.' And she just stands there, her arms crossed over her chest.

'Oh come on, Eve. He is here now, he might as well come in.' His voice is just as I remember it, gravelly, strong, on the edge of trouble.

She frowns at me for good measure before clearing the path through the corridor, the toddler pulling on the rim of her cut off shorts.

I walk through the meter of tiled floor with the reluctance of a convict awaiting his sentence. But when I do get through the doorway, there he is lounging on the sofa, his eldest kid bouncing on his vest clad belly.

He checks me out, up from my head down to my toes, and sniggers. 'Well, look at you. A bit of a posh boy now, aren't you?'

I hadn't even noticed, but I guess it's true. I am not much of T-shirt guy anymore. I like my khakis and shirts.

'I've known you with a better sense of style too,' I banter back. But he tightens his brow just as he used to.

'I'm a family man now.'

'As I can see.'

That's when I notice that the toddler is now hanging on to my trousers to keep its balance. 'Well, Howdi.'

That gets me a giggle from the older girl. 'Daddy, who's that?'

'That, Ems, is my annoying little brother.'

'Like Naya.'

'Something like that, but you be kind to your sister,' he quickly adds.

'I got something for the kids. Is that alright?'

Drew, who is now Patrick, nods with a shrug.

I don't know what kids that small might like. I don't know what my brother and his wife would approve of or not. I didn't exactly find a huge lot of choice in town either. No matter what the eldest girl squeals in delight as she pulls the big plush Pluto out of the bag. The baby reaches out for Minnie which is nearly twice her size. She then drops to the floor with a cushioned bump and begins to munch on its bow.

Drew smirks, Eva scowls. I don't care, the girls are loving it, that's what matters.

I probably should stand back up but I stay in my low squat. Looking at kids play is lovely, and safe. I didn't come to play, but right now it feels a deal better than to have to face anything else to do with my brother. But eventually the girls take their new toys away somewhere, Minnie dragged by her toe, and we are between adults.

I push back and sit, uninvited, on the armchair behind me. 'How are things?'

'Okay. fine. Better.' My eloquent brother. 'You?'

'Good actually. I'm touring with The Company.'

'Raf said.'

And there. Awkward silence.

'So. Ballet, right?'

'Yes.'

Drew shakes his head, just containing a laugh. 'You surrounded by pink tutus. Can't believe it.'

My jaws tighten despite how calm I want to pretend to be, cool, collected, take it on the chin, make peace. But hell no. 'Not that I had much choice, did I?' The snarl rushes out of my mouth.

'Well, it seems to have done you some good, got some sense into you, a job, a career even. And travel! Looks like I've made the right choice, hey?'

That gets me right off and up. No way will I condone the way he abandoned me when I asked for his help. I am not going to let him make a joke out of it. No matter the long term outcome.

I point to my chest. 'I made the choice. Prison or dance school.' I balance them in my extended hand for show. 'It wasn't a hard one. I wasn't going to end up like you and your ''friends''!' My fingers draw the quote marks in the air, just in case my tone isn't sarcastic enough.

A shadow crosses over both their faces. Eva turns over quickly, as if to check the girls are nowhere near. On the other side, still reclined on the sofa, my brother scowls at me.

'Who knows you are here?' he barely manage to say between his tight shut teeth.

'What?' No one. Raf. That's it. And Tara, my... my friend. But she doesn't know your address,' I add quickly, as if it's a protection spell. 'Why is-?'

'You come and help me get some drinks.' Eva grabs my wrist and pulls me through to the kitchen.

She jabs a finger at my chest. 'If you've come here to ask questions, you'd better leave, right now.'

'What? No, look, I don't care. I told you, I just want to make peace, catch up, you know.'

'Yeah, so you say,' she pushes a tray in my hands, whacks three glasses and two tumblers on it, snatches cartons of juice and two beers out of the fridge and pushes me back out of the kitchen. 'If that's true, you stick to the here and now, mate. And don't mention Broken Hill, ever.'

My temper sways dangerously with the urge to turn round and push that tray back into her hands, tell her to back off and treat me with respect. But a wise voice in my head says ''start by respecting her and her fears, no matter how ridiculous they seem to you''. It oddly sounds like Tara.

I pause in the middle of the corridor. 'I don't know what happened in Broken Hill. Hell, I don't even know what happened in Sydney, not all of it for sure. And that I don't need to know. But I won't lie. Whatever happened, he let me down when I needed him most. I've hated him for it. I still do.'

Her teeth snap together. 'Look,' she hisses in my ear. 'He has worked too hard to leave his nasty life behind. He doesn't need nothing dragging him back down. You seem okay now, but I won't be fooled by appearances.'

'Look, I never would...'

'You so could! You were running away from bail. I know full well who you were. You might be a Ballet dancer now, your past is still who you are. Pat has moved so far from it, I can't let it get back to him like it did in Broken Hill. I won't let my babies get hurt. So when you leave here you will not save the address. You will have Pat as the name on your phone, you hear me. And if, God forbid, anyone from his old crew ever finds us again because of you, so God help me I will hunt you down and break those pretty dancing legs of yours.'

I stare at this threatening woman who could look so frail compare to how strong my body feels. Her body shape isn't far off the ones I lift above my head on a daily basis. But in her anger, so raw, she is terrifying. Sure it doesn't scare me. She should know that if, like she seem to think, she knows what my past is made of. But that desperate need to keep her babies safe, I know that all too well. I didn't respect it back then when Mum tried so hard to keep us in the straight and narrow. I've missed it every day since.

I make myself as steady as I possibly can, smooth my safe with confidence, warm my eyes with strength. 'No need to threaten me, Eva. We may be strangers to each other now, but I want him, and you and the girls, to be as safe as you do. Especially from those street rats he used to hang around with. I have nothing to do with them in the first place. They never bothered me. You really don't need to worry about that.'

She pushes my shoulder to turn me back round. 'Better be.'

I come back into the room feeling a lot like a prisoner with his breakfast tray on his first morning in jail, taking small chained steps, scanning the room for the safest place to be, being cautious. If that had been me three years ago I would have played it like I used to: Too cool for school, or juvie, which ever.

I aim for the low table but that's was without counting on the girls, who come jumping up and down, well the bigger one is, the toddler isn't clearing the floor, to get to the drinks. I lower the tray and pour them each some juice, only half cups. I'm not even sure what made me think that full cups would be a disaster, but it at least it gives me Eva's nod of approval.

'Eva said you were driving tonight.'

Drew throws her a glance, and then, puzzling me senseless, he smiles. 'Yes, a short one, five hours there, then five back.'

'In the heat, that's going to be tough.' Look at me, doing small unchallenging talk.

His laugh shakes his soft belly. 'That's why I'm driving nights, stupid.'

I squint at the insult, but Eva elbows my side. 'No, it's not. He has air con in his cab. He likes to drive at night because no one else is stupid enough to drive in the desert in the dark, and he likes his roads clear. As if they would not be clear plenty anywhere around us.'

'Alice Springs' a bit isolated, isn't it?'

'Just the way we like it.'

One thing that Raf got right, those girls are amazing. They take all the space. It's impossible to have a proper conversation with them around. They continually bring the attention back to them: to play, to be listened to, to get tickles, or to snatch my phone out of my pocket to take photos. And actually that's not a bad thing.

I might have liked a sorry. Hell, I might have loved one. But who cares. It was done. A sorry would not change a thing, not even the fact that I would still not call on him for help now if I needed it. Maybe if it was a kidney transplant emergency, and yet, maybe not even then, and I'm fine with that. I have made my peace with the fact that, my bro and I, we will never be mates ever again. We were fine as young kids, the way all kids are.

But what already changed by then, when we grew up with more difference than likeness with every passing years, it just kept changing. He loves his football, I would rather watch Rugby. He loves punk rock, I'm Hiphop, and the classics now, it would seem, and that weird contemporary music I've been exposed to over the last three years. He gulps his one beer like I drink water. He burps and scratches himself as if that was the most normal thing to do with others around.

Maybe he is right when he tells me that I've turned into a posh boy. Compared to him I guess I am. For everyone else in the dance world I am still very much rough around the edges.

The hour drifts into two and all in all, it's not a bad afternoon. Thanks to the kids.

I shake hands with my brother who then takes the girls out in the garden to stop them climbing on me, begging me to stay. Eva leads me to the front door where the taxi is waiting by the curb.

'Just to make it clear,' she says as she holds the door for me. 'Three years ago, I'm the one who insisted you didn't come. Your brother wasn't keen, but he was dithering. I was having none of it. And I agree with what he said in there: we made the right choice. That dance school of yours, by the sound of it, it did you good.'

I stare at this woman, so pretty with her soft hair and long lashes, so fierce in the set of her mouth and the darkness of her eyes.

I could tell her that I could have turned things round in Broken Hill, or here even. Maybe. But when I force myself to remember how quickly I went back to the old style, hanging around with losers when I should have been back for my third year, I can't disagree. Those three years at the Dance Academy? They probably saved me.

 **Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed the weird family reunion... If you have please leave a little comment in the review box, it's encouraging to hear from readers! ;-)**


	43. Chapter 43 - Curtains

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: On Tara's advice Christian did go and see his estranged brother and scarily protective wife and gorgeous kids. Tour was tough and exhilarating. How is life back in Sydney going to pan out?_

Curtains

This is it. The last show. After a month and a bit, this is going to be my last time dancing Njorki, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm sad about it.

I'm usually fine before going on stage, but right now, as I sit on my make-up stool and wait for Maggie to spread her cold mucky stuff on, all I have is a tightness in my stomach that somehow reminds me of falling flat face off my skateboard and onto the tarmac. It's not helping that she's lost her usual cheeriness and has replaced it with tight lips and down turned eyes.

She too is going to miss this.

Her sadness takes over my own, blurring it like a stroke of her sponge. In its place I am filled with pure determination: she will have her due applause. Yes, her make-up has been mentioned, all the time, in the reviews. Yes, she was the focus of an article in a make-up artist specialist magazine, but I want her rewarded under the eyes of everyone.

My brain goes into action plan. Curtain call. How will I get her to come up there with me? How I am going to get Luke?

All through my last minute warm up, that's what's on my mind. Even when I'm side stage, I'm plotting. And then the orchestra tunes up and my mind clears, completely, to be filled by that other person that has been me every time I step on the stage.

I stand differently when I am Njorki. There's so much more suppleness in the hold of my spine, as if I'm ready to morph within a second. I like that feeling. I roll the soles of my feet, rise to the tip of my toes, stretch my arms above my head, then reach for the floor. One or two swift grand battements. One deep breath. Here I come.

The rest passes in a blur, like it always does when you vouch you will commit every spin, every pauses, every one of the audience's reactions, to memory. It all pass you by as if you were on a speeding train. And here I am. My last scene. The stage is empty. Awaiting me.

Maggie, who night after night checks things out from backstage, comes to give me a once over. There's no need. There's never any need. Her work is that good. She turns me over, nods, then disappears in the shadows without her trademark grin.

I turn to one of the stage hands.

'There's something wrong, get Maggie back here, right now.'

He nods and rushes off after her.

One done. She will be in a state with worry but I couldn't think of anything else to bring her up here.

I get my concentration back into the eight notes of music that are my cue. I step in, my heart beating so fast from exhaustion, so hard from drive, so tight from knowing that nothing will be the same after this.

I drag my feet to the middle of the stage, force a smile, because Njorki is not feeling cheery either. Where has his playing ways gone?

He had got his fun alright, at the beginning, and then he started to care. He became involved. He still loves his pond but somehow it's a lot less attractive after all he has just lived.

So we drag our feet.

I, Christian, know the princess is coming, but he, Njorki, doesn't, and so we will be surprised. I am really getting this acting malarkey.

There she comes, her pointe shoes tapping the floor as she floats towards me and takes my hand in hers, making me start and turn, amazed that she would be here now, when she should be living her happy-ever-after.

And we dance the weirdest of pas-de deux. We are not lovers, and yet our moves recall those traditional ones. I might have changed a lot throughout this little story, but I am still me: cheeky, turbulent. I am not the attentive lover who holds his cherished one, putting her in first place.

Oh no. I allow her a bit of that, but I also show off, with my own striking moves, with my cabrioles. It completely changes the equilibrium that is normally there, when the male is steady and strong, the one who holds and balances the ballerina. It makes it doubly hard, for both of us.

But the princess has long accepted me, like no one before has, and that is why I have changed so much. She appreciates me for who I am, for what I can give, and what I cannot. And she is thankful. In winning me over this way, she has secured herself a devious little helper. I had never taken sides before. I am a changed man. Well, monster. Whichever.

And then the pas-de-deux becomes pas-de-trois, as the Prince comes to find his beloved.

It could end in a bit of a playfight, like in La Fille Mal Guardée, but it isn't because he too became my friend. In his love for her he gained respect for me. In her friendship for me, he too had become a friend of sort. This pas-de-trois, it is their thanks to me, their promise that they will not forget me, that they will come to see me, here, by my pond, often.

They better do. We are friends right now, and they might not know it but I do, I am, and always will be, fickle. That friendship, it will have to be fed.

I dance this in the show-off steps that I cannot contain, in the joining in with coordinated three persons steps and then breaking off to do my own thing, celebrating their love but also being me, and reminding them of their place. A changed monster, but a monster still. My true nature.

And then, off stage.

Off stage and done, surrounded by everyone who has come to see the last scene but also readying themselves for the bows.

But my mind can't think of this.

Luke.

I snatch a glimpse of Maggie looking at me with great worry and try push past the rest of the cast as the music draws on its last note, the last pas-de-deux's ending, till I reach Wes near the front. 'Wes, I won't go on for curtain call if Luke isn't right here, on this very spot, for when it's my turn.'

Wes smirks. 'A bit late for turning into a Diva, I think.'

'I'm not kidding, Wes, I want him here. It's that or nothing.'

Wes smiles, his hands raising up in conciliation. 'Hey, I'm with you on this one. Is that why Maggie is over there looking like a mess?'

I turn over to see Maggie excusing her way through the corps's dresses. 'What is wrong, Christian?'

'Nothing, Mags, I just wanted you there.'

Her eyebrows scrunch up into pointy hats.

'You are coming with me. You're going to take a bow, and bask in the applause.'

'But-'

'No ''but'', Mags, I couldn't have become Njorki without you.'

The side stage empties as the corps goes for their applause. Once. Twice. Then we join them, the main cast. And we bow. The applause is thunderous.

In comes the conductor. I check the side. Luke is there, his eyes wide, his hands fiddling with the straps that holds his bassoon.

Curtain falls. Out goes the prince. Out goes the princess. Out they both go. And here is my cue. I am so loved I have two repeat calls scheduled. So out I go. I do my last bit of showing off, in that overwhelming feeling of being him and being me, of being powerful and fascinating, both of us.

I then rush off, grab Maggie with one hand, Luke with the other. I spare a thought for the breaking of rules I am indulging in, and it raises my heart rate even higher, as if that's stressing me out. Wes might be okay with this, but I didn't ask Rebecca, I didn't check with Wayne. I could be in trouble for this.

I nearly laugh out loud as we trail the back of the curtain and my heart calms right down to a nice excited thrum. Who cares what I'm doing or not? I am no longer under any obligations.

Confidently I lead them through the curtain gap.

The audience's applause slows a little. I as Njorki the clown mime blowing into an invisible massive wind instruments and present Luke to them with a flourish like one of those girls on ''The Price is Right''. The applause picks right up as Luke plays a few deep notes, and then bows, as low as his massive instrument allows.

I am nearly chocking as I turn to Maggie. Humbled, I slide my hands from my head to my waist, emphasising the extent of her work, and present her to the audience, but this time I am serious Njorki, the respectful one. The applause erupts. There is no other words for it. The tears that seem to have been lurking behind the low eyes and tight lips escape as she takes her bow. And finally, we all bow, together, the three of us who brought Njorki to life.

We step back to be hidden once more, but the audience is going so wild that the stage manager hushes us through the curtain again, Luke and Maggie's hands tightly holding mine.

We retreat to side stage with my chest held high and proud, not caring a single bit about Rebecca's pout. At least Wayne is smirking at me and Wes is still grinning in connivance.

Maggie hugs me, Luke mumbles something about having chosen the anonymity of orchestra life and how he hopes this will never happen again, but he is smiling under the frown. They leave me alone to take the taps on the shoulders dancers give each other to say 'job well done'.

And then, right at the back, behind everyone else, her face streaming with tears, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, is the girl who wasn't supposed to be here.

The one who had refused to come, time and again.

The one who breaks my heart and yet makes it feel so full and whole.

I stride towards her, rudely oblivious to the many bodies between us, but Tara waves her hands as if she's shaking an horrible sight away, then turns and runs.

My jaws clench. I might have thought that I was rude by trying to push my way through but right now I don't care a single bit, I'm forcing the bodies apart, or at least that's the plan. But that fear in her eyes, that's what stopping me more effectively than all the bodies slowly moving off backstage. If only I could still be Njorki, I would spirit them all out of the way.

Instead I'm stuck to the spot and what I see are suits, dark, dull and sharp, coming each which way and they seem pointed in my direction.

That snap me out of my funk.

I duck behind the dresses and tights who are seeking attention and praise to scoot down the side of the wings. I may have somehow grown to love the whole dancing thing, but after-parties with the patrons, never; and today I feel no obligation to stay what-so-ever.

I rush as concealed as can be when I am all painted over, and check the many corridors but Tara is nowhere to be seen, and no one seems to have seen her either.

I should be getting a massage, or an ice bath at least, but I just shoulder through the many people waiting for me outside of the principals changing rooms and close the door right in their faces. I grab all my stuff and throw it back in my bag, pull my hood on to hide under, and slink out.

I might be still green, but this whole thing is over. Luke will play other music, Maggie will do other make-up. Hopefully her new found 'fame' will help her get out of fashion and into the sci-fi stuff she so longs to do. And me... I will finally start the life that I intended six months ago and I will do all I can to get my girl back. That life of mine, it will start when I find her.

 **Author's note: As usual I would love to find out what you make of this, so don't be shy and do leave me a review!**


	44. Chapter 44 - Hide and Seek

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: That's it, Christian gets to dance his last performance as Njorki. And that's when he realises how much he might miss it, and how much he owes to the two people who brought this character to life with him, Maggie the make-up artist, and Luke the bassoonist. And they got their curtain calls, as he hoped. The one person he had not planned on being there, is Tara, her face streaming with tears and running off before he could get to her._

Hide and Seek

I'm so glad Abi gave me a key. It seemed weird at the time, and I have not used it since, but now it will come in very handy. Even if Tara is at home right now and not wanting to see me, I can still come in. And I will, because sometimes we think we need to be alone when really what we need is to be with someone, we just don't want to admit to it.

I ride my bike as fast as it can go, run up the stairs, knock. Nothing.

I turn the key in, preparing my apology, my argument, but the flat is in complete darkness. I check the rooms. No one. The only thing out of place is the jumbled mess of handbag contents on the high table.

I relock the door behind me and rest my back on it. I rack my brain for where she should be when I notice my hands.

Green and brown.

Shit. If she's still out then being green is not going to work.

I let myself back in and aim straight for the bathroom. I spread the nappy rash cream all over my chest, arms, face, neck, ears. I wipe it off with the content of three rolls of toilet paper which is not up to the job, then get in the shower. I scrub as much as I can, cursing this thing for being so resilient, for taking so long. The showers at the Opera House are power jets compared to Tara's trickle.

I grab my towel knowing that it will be ruined, ignore the pile of dance slipper and tights in the corner, the even more disgusting pile of browned toilet paper in the sink and just put on the joggers I wore to come to my last performance.

I go through the list that has been building in my head of where she could be.

She might still be at the Sydney Opera House, in one of the many back rooms, or toilets, or backstage where there are so many nooks and crannies.

She could be with a friend. Ethan... but I didn't see him there. Masukio at the boarding house? Who else is she friends with now? She's been throwing new names at me left right and centre when we've been on the phone. Mainly female though, thankfully.

I dial Ethan as I rush down the stairs.

'Hey Christian, didn't think I-'

'Is Tara with you?'

'What? No. Why-?'

'Nothing, see ya.' I hang up. No time to waste.

I ride to the boarding house. I haven't thought of a better alternative.

I knock at the door and wait, my foot tapping, my fist against the wood panel as if that might stop me from trying to punch through it.

Eventually a girl opens the door.

'Is Tara here?'

'Tara? No, I don't think there's a Tara here.'

How the heck does she not know Tara? She seems to have made friends with the whole Academy of late. And even still, surely she is part of the Academy folklore: ''the one who fell and broke her back''.

I grumble and push by the girl who squeals, just like Tara would have done if that had been her in first year. But she would have followed it with a stream of interdictions. This girl just freezes on the spot.

I stride through to the common room, then through the connecting houses till I have shouted her name a hundred times, bringing out everyone of their rooms but her.

Remi blocks my way when I am about to turn round to repeat the experience up on first floor. 'She's not here, mate.'

'Oh, because you know where she is, do you?' I snarl at his face.

He smirks. He has the audacity to smirk. The snarl evolves to full grown rumble in the throat.

'Hey, calm down.' Remi puts his hands between us, palms towards me. 'She's normally helping Masukio at this time of day.'

I grind my teeth to channel all my anger and frustration out of my fists. 'Thanks,' I snap at the poor guy who is trying to be helpful.

I rush past him now that he's not holding me in, run past my bike and sprint down the stone steps and pier all the way to my old school.

It's late. Twenty past ten. They have twenty minutes before the school is shut. I'm not going to wait outside the main doors for that to happen. There are too many possible exit routes, for a start, and I'm just not the ''waiting'' type.

I barge through the doors, at the receptionist who frowns at me, then smiles. Being recognised and remembered with a smile: what a nice change.

I scurry around, checking out all the studios. The likelihood of them being in a classroom is far too slim.

The sight of them two stop me right in my track. If I were in a cartoon there would be tire marks on the floor and smoke at my heels. I'm in real life and all I get is a halt in my chest, as if my heart decided to skid too.

Huddled in the far corner, there is not an inch separating their sides. Tara's lips are moving, non-stop. Masukio's head nod back and forth on his scrawny neck, like an anorexic version of the bulldog at the back of a car.

I have a choice. There are always choices. I can rush in and interrupt them. That's what my guts demand of me. That's what I did in first year when Tara was dating Ethan. I kept on pressurising her that I too wanted her. That I would be better for her. I didn't drop the case like I probably should have. I did get her, eventually. Not that it lasted. She had kissed me, and straight away regretted it.

It was when I became ''nice'' - as Masukio calls it, that it had worked. Till my jealousy messed it up that is. It's not giving me good advice now either. Masukio is a great guy; thinking evil about him is going to get me nowhere.

That's when my pride and honour get a say and beckon me to leave them alone. It's Tara's choice too after all. I should respect it.

But her and Masukio, I can't see it. He looks so young, so vulnerable. How could she be attracted to this? And he made it clear he isn't interested, otherwise what would that talk about 'being nice' to get her be all about?

Maybe she has changed his mind. When Tara chases something she hunts till she gets what she wants. She had wanted to have a crush on Ben, so she did. And she had won him over. So much that the poor guy had been devastated when she then rejected him. Because of me. And why he pursued her with all he had, until he won. Well, till I put my nose in. It had ended, once again, because of me. I had hurt another great friend over Tara. When I think that I pushed her away so bad because of that. I hadn't even known she had broke up with him before I went to find her in her room that night on tour... what if I had known then?

I shake my head. I can't think this way. There is no use dealing in buts and ifs and maybes. This is me now. That's the situation. The girl I love and whose heart I have broken three times is all snuggled up with another bloke after she refused to talk to me. What am I going to do about it?

I listen to that unusual voice at the back of my head that tells me to wait. Maybe I should try that for once.

I observe. Tara is still talking. Masukio is still nodding. It dawns on me that if I could hear him it would probably be 'hmms' that accompany his nods. Like Tara does when she listens to me.

I pause to think of that. Is she pouring her heart out. Those tears that streaked her cheeks, is that what she is exorcising?

I knock. Their faces rise in surprise. Tara's whiten. Masukio pulls a pinched smile and gets up, pulling Tara with him.

'I'm go get changed, Tara. See you out in ten?'

Tara responds with an exaggerated sigh. As if the whole idea of being left here with me without a timed ending sounds atrocious.

Masukio slows down as he passes me by. 'Listen,' is all he says.

I nod, although he cannot see it as he closes the door behind my back.

'Hey Tara,' I whisper, soft and careful, like a tamer.

'Hey.'

And where do I go from there? I recall how she listened to me. Never any questions. Just statements. Let's try that.

'I was surprised to see you backstage. Happily surprised. You didn't look so happy yourself.'

'Oh, Christian!' And she does the last thing I expected after the harsh tone she delivered this in: she crashes into my arms.

My hands take ages to circle her, despite how much I want to hold her: I'm too worried it might scare her away. But eventually they enclose her, softly so, as her back shakes and my shoulder gets wet. It's not comfortable though, not with her fists pressing into my pectorals.

'I wish I could understand why so are so sad, Tara.'

That snaps her out of the embrace, out of my arms, a few steps back, her fists now folded across her hips.

'Oh, you don't understand, do you? How surprising!'

I have failed. The wild animal is not going to be tamed with something as simple as a hug.

'Angry then.'

Tara shakes her head. I don't want to talk about it, Christian.'

'Oh, I see. ''I don't want to talk about it, leave me alone''. That line, it's mine, Tara. The one you've always hated so much. Now you're throwing it at me?'

Tara makes to bypass me. 'Yeah, exactly.'

I would love to hold her back, to stop her exit, but wisdom is steering me clear. I follow her instead, keep a safe distance between us.

'I can't know what to do if I don't know what the problem is,' I point out.

'Well, it's not your problem to deal with, so you are exempt.'

'I'm not Tara, though. I would not be here if it wasn't my problem.'

Tara stops to face me. 'It's not your problem.'

'I care about you, you are my friend, you are upset and it seems to be something to do with the ballet I was part of tonight. So yes, in every way it is my problem.'

Tara sigh and lowers herself on the bench outside the studio where we had that revealing talk about Peter Pan, when I realised what I felt for her, what I didn't feel for Kat. Where she didn't realise, but Kat did.

She sits with her spine against the wall, her chest rising up and down so slowly, like I do before going on stage... concentrating, getting into the role.

But I don't want her to play a role!

I come to sit beside her, my whole body as turned towards her as the bench allows, and take her hands in mine. 'Go on, I can take it.'

'Oh can you?'

'I'll try my best.'

Tara sighs, heavily so. 'Maybe I can't take it.'

'Let's deal with it, Tara. Together, we'll try. We can, I am sure of it.'

The shift in her eyes from pain to anger swipe that certitude off.

'I hate it.'

''Hate'', present tense. ''It'', not you. ''It'' meaning dance, hopefully. 'I'm going to guess it is the ballet.'

'No, it's not, idiot. It is you.'

Oh.

Tara's head shakes as she prepares herself for delivering the capital blow. There is nothing I can do to prepare myself but to let it happen.

'You who dances the way you do. You who charms the audience. You who shows that you are such a good guy that you insist on sharing your applause. You who loves it, who can do it with such ease, and you who is going to give it all up, when so many would do anything, anything, to have what you've got.' Tara gets up and stabs my chest with a sharp finger. 'You who has it all handed to you on plate and send it back because you've suddenly decided that you've changed your mind, what every single person at the Academy has bent backward to help you achieve, well it was time wasted, ''sorry''. Everything comes easy to you, and still you don't want it. You!'

'Me! I get everything easy? Are you kidding me?'

Masukio pushes past me, giving me a death stare then a rise of an eyebrow that makes me feel like the idiot they both think I am.

'Tara, I going back to Boarding House now. Want to come?'

'No, I'm going home, but I'll walk with you.'

'Me too,' I add although I'm clearly not invited.

Tara says nothing and just leads us out.

We walk in silence until Masukio pulls me beside him, with Tara at his other side. 'It tough to understand when no listen.'

We both stare at him, then glance at each other, wondering who he is talking to.

'Getting angry mean not listening. Listening is being in other place. Just listen. No defend.'

I glance at Tara again. She's focussed on the toes poking out of sandals. That's only then that I notice she is wearing heels. Low heels but heels all the same. 'Tara, your shoes!'

'What about my shoes?'

'They're pretty.'

She scowls at me, then glances at Masukio, who has stopped with us, his gazed fixed on the steps ahead of us.

Tara rattles her throat. 'Yes, they are.'

'It must be nice to be in heels again.'

'I haven't had much reasons for dressing up in the past six months.'

'I'm glad you can, though. There was a time when that was touch and go.'

She gulps so tightly that I see her apple move up and down and hear the gurgling sound from her throat.

She peeks at Masukio who still stares straight ahead.

'Yes, I'm glad of that too.'

I nod. Masukio nods and moves off again, with us in tow.

'When you are ready, I would really like to know why seeing the performance was tough for you. I am sorry that it was.'

Tara nods, not a sound coming out of her. We take the stairs, much faster than she had when we last did a month ago.

We part ways with Masukio who wishes us goodnight with a single nod.

'I have my second helmet,' I say tapping the box at the very back of my bike. 'Fancy a lift?'

Tara tries to suppress a smile, I can tell by the way the middle is tightly shut but the corner still rise. 'Okay.'

I'll take an ''okay''.

 **Author's note: as usual, review and comments are really welcome!**


	45. Chapter 45 - Face Off

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian has gone everywhere he could think of in search of Tara, only to find her crying sitting far too near Masukio. Tara explodes the minute Masukio is gone, and only calms down again when he returns. He has gone to the boarding house now though..._

Face Off

Tara said okay to the ride and yet there she stands, studying my face for God knows what, or its evil equivalent.

I don't let myself worry too much. She's accepted. It might be because she's tired, because her back hurts or because she likes it; it's all and the same. She's going to ride behind me. Full stop.

I unlock the box and present her with the deep burgundy helmet I bought especially for her on my return, new. I let her adjust the straps and get the bike turned on, waiting for the grip of her hand on my shoulder, the purchase of her knee at my hip, for the weight of her against my back, the encircling of her hands around my waist, and welcome the new clang of her helmet against mine.

I ride carefully, as I always do when she's with me.

I wait, still straddling the bike as she puts the helmet away, the clicking sound of the box sounding louder than it should over the evening hubbub of the town. I don't say a word, but hope, gosh, pray even, that my eyes convey how much I want her to invite me up.

'You must be tired,' is what she says instead.

'No, not really.' That's not even a lie. I'm shattered, my body is on its very last supply of energy, drained by the day's practice, the performance, the tension, but I cannot allow myself to be ''tired''. I won't even consider it until we've talked things through.

Tara purses her lips, her eyes tight. 'Do you want to come up then?'

'I would really like to, Tara, yes.'

So we go, in complete silence as we wait for the lift to open and let us in, as we ride up, as I wait for Tara to find her keys when my set is in my hand deep within my pocket. Through all this silence, I rack my brain for what I'm going to say, scratching off the thousand questions and try to reformulate them into safe benign statements.

'Oh,' she says as she turns on the light then shuts the door. She hurries to the table and scoop the mess she left there only to pile it up at the end by the wall.

'Drink?'

'Coffee, please.' I will need it.

She smiles at the expression on my face. 'I knew you were tired.'

'Something like that.'

I go straight to the sofa and collapse. The second I'm down I know it's a mistake. This is not where we normally talk. We always stay at the table. The sofa is where we chill, and I can't afford to chill.

I force myself to sit at the edge of the seat, not cushioned again the inviting softness of the backrest. And I wait. I am becoming an expert.

Tara potters about the kitchen, takes two trips to her room to clear her mess, back and forth till the table is clear, the coffee made and she's finally joining me, reclining as she blows on her herbal tea.

I stretch my sore neck. No time to waste.

'We both know I hate it when you try to force me to talk about something I don't want to talk about.'

'Hm hmm.'

Ah, here we are, back with the humming. But I don't need to be heard, I don't want to talk this time, I have nothing to say, I'm all ears.

'And I sense you do not want to talk about the Opera House.' There, a statement. She can do what she wants with it.

A different humming comes out this time, sounding more like a ''hn hn...'' a negative that proves the point.

'Usually, when I don't want to talk it's because I'm worried I'm going to get too angry, that I will say things I don't want to say.'

She throws me a glance that is really a challenge. 'Things that you think all the same.'

'Yes, I guess so.'

'Things you know the other does not want to hear.'

That truth twists in my stomach.

'Yes, I guess that too.'

'I know what you mean.'

I turn towards her to see both her eyes, not just her profile. 'I can take it.'

She huffs at my cock-sureness. 'You think you can take what I'm thinking but not saying?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I know for sure you don't want to hear it. You've never wanted to before.'

'Then I probably should want to hear it.'

Tara smiles a sad barely there smile, silent, but her hands are doing far too much talking, wringing against each other.

I take them in mine. 'Who will it hurt most? You or me?'

'Both.'

I am not so sure I want to hear the truth anymore. I could yawn right now and save myself from all this. She would let me be, let me kiss her forehead as if there is peace between us, and would go to her room, all so that I could sleep. Not that I would in any case.

The word rings in my head. ''Both''. I shouldn't be so surprised, she's the one who's been in tears, not me. What I still cannot comprehend is why.

'Tara, I don't know what is happening, and it's scaring me. I don't understand what is going on in your head, and right now I'm not sure anymore if I want to know, but you have taught me, more than once, that I need to stop running away from what freaks me out and just face it. I want to face it, and if it's likely to hurt us both, then I want for both of us to come out stronger on the other side.'

And that's it, I've done it again: she's crying anew.

But there's more than just sadness in the streaming eyes glaring at me.

'Oh, I see, well let's not make you worry any longer than you need to, hey, let's get this done with, whether I want to talk about it or not. Whether I asked you to leave me alone or not. What I want clearly does not matter.'

Deep breath. ''Listen'' I hear in Masukio's voice.

'If you'd really rather not, I will respect that.'

That stops her short.

'I think you should just tell me and it will be out in the open for us to deal with, but it is up to you.'

'But it's not up to me. It's never up to me. I do my best. I do my exercises, I try to trust my body like you tell me to, like Dr Whicks tells me to, but no matter what I do it might not even make a blind bit of difference.'

I scramble for something to say that won't be just a hmm hmm, something that will both soothe her and allow her to keep on talking, but she beats me to it.

'And you! Look at you!'

And here we go. The crux.

She stands up in her barely contained rage.

'I've already told you! Just minutes ago: You get everything you want and more, only to then realise that what others work so hard to achieve, so many of them never actually getting anywhere near where they wanted to be, you don't want it anymore. I mean, look, how many of us were still there at the end of third year? Seventeen, that's how many, of the whole forty who started with us, the hundred of audition week, the many more that applied and didn't even get that far. And how many got a contract? Three. Three, and you, you slammed it back in their faces. What was it? Too easy? You didn't deserved it? Too many people helped you? Is that it?'

'Tara, I've just spent the last -'

'Oh no, don't tell that this little stint dancing with them was you accepting their contract, it never was, you were opportunistic, as always, everything falls in your lap, doesn't it?'

I want to be there to listen. I want to hmm and nod and let her vent out. But can I? Course not. Instead I'm up too, my calves screaming at me for not having got their proper post performance stretch, but it's nothing in comparison to how crunched my heart is right now. 'What the heck, Tara, we've gone over this. Thousands of others might be wanting this, but I do not. I cannot change that!'

Her eyes flood with tears again. 'Did you see yourself?'

I take a second to process what she is saying.

'You didn't, did you? But you will, they've filmed the performance, it was shown live in cinemas all over Australia tonight. And you will see it, then you will understand.'

Tara turns then, away from me, towards her room. I move right in her path.

'See what?'

I can barely hear her for the sobbing shaking her shoulders. 'The way you dance, what you did on stage tonight. You were amazing, Christian. I didn't want to see it. I knew it would hurt. Every time someone talked about this production I would shut my ears, I would block them out. I stopped reading magazines, newspaper. I avoided anything to do with dance on the internet, just in case. But in the end I couldn't keep away, I just went in to see Abigail this afternoon, about something, and stayed. And I shouldn't have.'

I'm lost for word, barely able to process what she is saying.

'You danced the way I did. You were him, I saw that. And it was magical. It's such a beautiful story, such demanding dancing, and you made it look so easy when I know how hard it must have been. You were so alive. That smile on your face, it's obvious you loved it. And yet here you are. You have all I want, and you're pissing on it.'

The rudeness of the expression in Tara's voice stuns me enough that she bypasses me. Her movement clears my view of the door and I can't help but stare at it.

Tara checks over her shoulder then smirks at me. 'Go on, go. Run away. That's what you do when you don't like what you hear. So go on, you haven't changed after all.'

But she could not be more wrong. There is no way I'm going anywhere unless she begs me to go.

'Ive tried, Tara. I've loved it, don't get me wrong, but it's not the life I want for myself. You know what it's like, gruelling all the time. And it was a nightmare, getting this role down. I had to work so hard, and everyone there is just, you know, so good, I-'

'Oh!' she interrupts, her eyes mean, her tone mocking, 'Poor you, getting everybody-we-know 's dream was a bit tough, was it? For once you were not the best at everything, for once you had to work, it didn't come down easy on you like everything else does?'

'God, Tara,' I say through gritted teeth. 'How can you say that? You know what my life's been like!'

'Oh yeah, right, your life: no broken knee, no broken back, hardly ever any injuries, teachers' pet all around when others had to fight to get respect, youngest freelancer at The Company ever, dancing a main role right out of school when I... I'm stuck in this flat for most of the day, counting the dollars that my parents spare so that I can stay here dwindle into nothing, when all I can think of is how scared I am of the decisions I'll have to make, sooner rather than later. Oh yes, your life has been so bloody hard!'

'Tara, my brother, my dad, my-'

'Oh give over, you've made it clear, time and again, that you don't need, nor want, anyone. You the brave one, flying solo despite all the adversity, too cool to care even when he gets everything the others want, yeah, poor you.'

I could collapse to the ground I'm so wasted. Not just from physical exhaustion but from the despair that engulfs me. After all the time we have spent together, after all the phone conversations, this is still what she thinks of me? The door is looking incredibly tempting now.

'I'm sorry you think this of me.'

'Why? Am I wrong?'

'Yes, you are.'

'Well, you must have been very good at faking then.' How I hate that nasty smirk on her beautiful face.

'Not faking Tara,' I shake my head. 'Just very lost, and half the time trying really hard not to drown.'

I move to free her from this conversation, but I still do not go. I don't think I could muster the energy to, so I just collapse back into the sofa.

She does the last thing I expected and comes to sit beside me again. In the silence that builds I can find no words to say.

The first sound that comes out of either of us is a deep sigh. 'I'm sorry,' she whispers.

'I'm sorry too.'

'I know it's been tough for you, I'm not being fair.'

'It's tough for both of us, just as you said.'

But neither of us say exactly why. We just sit beside each other. As time passes we sit less stiffly, we sink deeper into the seats, our breathing evening out, our limbs relaxing till it feels more balanced inside, with just a hint of the hurt and anger lingering at the back of my throat. I'm wiped out.

'I'm never going to be able to dance like that ever again.' There is no anger left in her voice, no tears either, she sounds as defeated as I feel.

Of course the platitude come rushing to my mind. I discard them as swiftly as they come.

'That's one of the possibilities.'

'That's the greater possibility.'

'You said you would ask Dr Whicks opinion on this.' Even with the residual ache in my chest it still puffs up a little with undeserved hope. She had told me she would wait for me to do that. Did she?

'It's been like everything else, I've shut off every time she said anything. But you know what she's like, cautious, careful, and yet optimist at the same time. I hate how she beams when I'm doing well.'

'You hate it.' That seems so strange, I have to repeat it.

'I don't trust it.'

'You seem to move more easily, I've noticed that.'

Tara pouts. 'Hmm.'

'Is there someone else's opinion you would trust more?'

Tara shrugs. I wait.

'I will have to dance to know.'

'Hmm hmm.' She is the one she needs to trust. I've been telling her so for a long time.

'I will. Soon.'

'Okay.'

And we just sit till she stands and goes in the direction of the bathroom. She opens the door before I remember the mess I left there.

I sprint the four metres to catch up to her. 'Sorry, I came to look for you here and realised I couldn't quite carry on my search still covered in muck.'

I observe her consternated face, the slow rise of the corner of her mouth till she's burst in laughter. 'Oh what a mess.'

'I know, I'll sort it out.' And I don't mean just the paper, clothes and clogged sink. This whole sadness, anger, frustration and fear; the way they have warped how she thinks of me, I will sort it out.


	46. Chapter 46 - Ready to Teach

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian got what he wanted: Tara told him exactly why she cried at his last performance which she was no meant to see, and it leaves him with the sour of taste of having to prove himself once again..._

Ready To Teach

I wake up on Tara's couch with a smile, filled with positivity and freedom.

I ignore my overly sore body from sleeping crooked with muscles that should have gone through the hands of the Company's physio and grab my phone to check the time. Its black screen reminds me I turned it off. I wasn't going to be disturbed by anything last night. I stretching slowly as the screen wake up, like a cat in a ray of sunshine, even if it's rather grey out there.

I glance at it and curse myself for not staying cosily curled on the sofa. Instead I get whacked in the face by the numbers of awaiting voicemails and text messages. My barely awake brain scrambles automatically for the worst that could be, but Tara's humming to herself in the shower, so she's okay.

I scan through the senders. Abigail, Ollie, various other ballet related people whose numbers I have gained I am not sure how, and Rebecca. Twice.

Why the heck is she texting me? It's not as if we are on texting terms. I happen to have her number in case of emergencies, that's all.

I open one of Abi's instead. She's asking where I am. And it was sent this morning, ten am, an hour ago by the looks of it. That's how long I've been sleeping.

Ollie's are of the same nature. That makes me open Rebecca's. The first echoes their questions.

The second invites me to check the emails she sent me. Emails?

The inbox is as full as my phone. All from her. All forwards of emails she had received, all singing praises. Many asking about my plans or directly offering me a new role. All sent to her over the last months. The only one that is directly from Rebecca is ominously titled ''contract meeting''.

'Wow.' I hadn't noticed Tara hovering behind me. 'Look at all these opportunities!' She crosses her arm over mine to reach the mouse pad. 'I mean, wow!'

'But it's all pointless. That's it for me, no more prancy dancing. I am a teacher now, that's the end of it.'

'You sure?' she asked with a remnant of disapproval that no amount of talking and sharing could completely extinguish.

'Yes!'

'Okay.' Tara pushes me to the side and rushes through screens and options. 'That's it. This account has been disabled. Here's the screen to get a new one. I would suggest something with 'Cheds' as a screen name.' She smiles cheekily. 'No one will find that.'

She's been so fast I didn't have a chance to stop her. Now I gasp. 'Tara, there are some emails on there I need!'

'Ah ah, that's why it's only disabled. You can have access again when you need it, if you need it.'

I study the ingénue quality of her rounded cheekbones and contrasting glimmer in the eyes which seems untouched by all that she's been through. 'Since when did you become so IT savvy?'

'Spare time, Christian, plenty of it!'

Spare time. That's what I was thinking of when I woke up. Now all I can think of is that I have to get ready for the Memorial, for the Hip Hop classes, and more importantly so that I could actually do these jobs, I have to pass my dance teacher exams. I was on tour when my cohort ''graduated''. My exam, with complete strangers, is in two days. Prepping suddenly takes all the free time I stupidly thought I might have, locked inside my cell. My roommate looks at me weird. I guess he isn't much used to seeing me. My feverish forty-eight hours of typing must be worrying him too, for he keeps on offering me cups of tea.

After this intense seclusion I finally turn up ready to teach a dance lesson to a bunch of wannabes and their friends. I was supposed to bring a ''friend'' too, but who would I have asked? Or more to the point: who would have come? I so wish I could say Tara, but there is no way I would even consider putting her through this, even less after all she's said. At least she called me, and she asked to see my plans, made suggestions... I am clinging onto the hope that maybe this choice of mine won't be what splits us even more apart.

I put my bag, filled with the all important submission of lessons plans, by the wall and watch the others file in. It's a right mish-mash of people, every style seem to be represented. We have Hip Hop baggy clothes, some guy in singlet and a girl in a 50's dress and flat shoes, a guy dressed like he is going to play basketball, and an assortment of black and neon coloured Lycra.

One of the girls, a ponytail high on her head and huge quantity of make-up that made my Njorki one look kind of mild, did a double take as she smiled at me.

'I know you from somewhere.'

'Erm, I don't think so,' I try to say kindly, but I'm also trying too hard not to laugh and it comes out jumbled.

She elbows her friend. 'We know him from somewhere, no?'

The friend, who has the longest fake eyelashes and nails combo I have ever seen, peers at me between narrowed eyes, and she suddenly points one of those red pointy nail at me. 'Poster, I've seen him on a poster!'

My mind races. There is no way they would recognise me in my Njorki make-up for the production's advertising. Not even my mother could have. But I have been in other posters. Last year particularly, the ''Golden Boy'' of The Academy.

My heart races. I don't want to be known here. I want to blend in. I can't bear to think of the reactions if anyone here knew I danced on the main stage of the Sydney Opera house only few days ago or the preconceived ideas they are bound to have. Can I please just be me for a minute!

'You were in a movie!' the other squeals.

'I shake my head. No, I'm afraid not.'

Thankfully the examiners call us up. I let the girls trot to the front as I stay near the back. I have grown fond of that place during morning class.

The first girl is utterly crap, getting her music mixed up, not reflecting left and right so that everyone is confused, and all the while she just claps and tell us we are amazing. The basketball guy gets us through a decent rap routine, although his music is too loud. Then comes a girl in ballet soft slippers and wrap around skirt. Why she is here is beyond me. I assumed ballet schools had their own examinations.

I check the door, I check the examiners. Maybe I could leave for this one. I check the rest of my fellow examinees, and quite a few stare at each other in a mix of confusion, mockery and fear.

The lady examiner, who looks far too much like Rebecca for my liking, stands and rattles her throat. 'Our qualifications covers all genre of dance. Have a go, you might enjoy it.'

Accompanied with a few raised eyebrow Miss Ballerina begins. There are no barres in the room, so from the word go this is not going to work. But she does try her best with what she's got. It's when we get to centre work that I can't bear it anymore. Her technique is so appalling that all I want to do is walk to the front and correct her. Which won't do, of course, so instead I frown.

I catch the male examiner looking at me and frowning right in return.

I rub my face to clear its sour expression and to focus my brain.

Teacher.

I want to be a teacher. So let's start to think like one. What would I teach this girl? And how?

I run through a mind list: her turn-out is sloppy, she arches her back all wrong, her port-de-bra is over extended, her hands are not soft enough. She is not doing pointe work, thank God for that, but her relevés are so poor that it would be ill advised anyway. If all we had to judge were her explanations she would be doing a decent teacher's job, she is just terrible at demonstrating... and what's the point in that?

The examiner checks me out again. That's when I realise I'm altering her poor stances by accentuating the corrections on my own body, Patrick style, effectively dropping my ''I'm just the same as everyone'' cover.

Shit. Busted.

Too much. I've done too much. And I'm being idiotic. if I did try to correct all this in one go it would be too much, even Miss Raine would not tackle all these flaws at once. So I spend the rest of her twenty minute session thinking about the teaching priorities. My mind is working so much over time that I'm made only aware that it's my turn next when everyone is sipping their drinks and looking at me.

I take a deep breath, just like I have done before every one of my performance. This exercise in pretending to be a teacher is being beneficial, though, because it's become evident that my lesson plan is useless. They told us to prepare a lesson for a class we have been teaching for six sessions already. All very nice, and helpful for what I will have to do with the Hip Hop classes at the Academy, but at least a third of these people here, the friends I presume, are clearly not dancers. They have been swamped at every session so far, and my one is not going to be any different.

So I do what I believe a good teacher does, I adapt. I also try to look for the best in each participant, not an easy task at the best of times. I encourage, I give pointers, I allow for personal preferences and limitations. All in all, I'm rather proud of myself.

I sip my own drink after my slot, checking out people's faces, especially the examiners, but they seem absorbed in their paperwork. The majority of the dancers are smiling after their efforts. Basketball boy even comes to clap me on the back, saying 'way to go'.

The next and last session for this morning is one of the Lycra girls, and God I'm bored, so bored my brain is thinking a thousand things instead of getting lost in dance oblivion and my body tells me off for being so under challenged.

That's when it hits me that I'm not going to dance like I have for the last two months, not again. I will have my Hip Hop classes, six of them, and I will have to bust some moves, but I'm not going to be the one dancing. I will have the Memorial, but I will be teaching untrained kids. Of course I could dance my own stuff there too, when no one else might be about. I did get a kick out of that before The Company took everything out of me. But now? After daily dance marathon, how am I going to feed my body and my brain?

The next two hours are spent waiting for the oral interview. Writing lesson plans and a bit of nonsense on teaching theory, can do. Teach a lesson, can do, or at least I hope they'll agree that I can. Interviews? I have the worst track record ever. I completely froze on Lana for that extra choreography mentorship, and not just because I kind of felt disloyal to Ethan who wanted that opportunity so much more than me. I just don't get personal. With the board, for my supposed begging to be accepted back super late into third year, well, that was the worst, because they held all I wanted, and all I gave them was surliness and disdain. Not my proudest hour. I wasn't much better with The Company, and yet that didn't, somehow, seem to count against me.

I try to channel the inner teacher again. To focus on the fact that they do not care who I am as long as I am safe with students.

'Mr Reed,'

I walk in with a sigh of relief at the casual arrangement. They both have clipboards on their laps, but there is no table separating us, just chairs in an irregular circle.

'So, how did you think it went?'

I stare at both in turns. 'Do you mean my lesson?'

The guy narrows his eyes. 'Yes, your lesson, we will not be talking about anyone else's during this part of your exam.'

I nod. Fine by me. I wouldn't want to do their jobs. 'I think it went okay, despite the last minute changes.'

'We noticed,' the Rebecca look-alike says, but sounding much warmer. 'Why is that?'

'Well, no offense to the system, but some of the participants here today clearly haven't had six weeks of dance lessons before, so my plan didn't fit. It would have been easier to pretend this was a first class, it would have been more realistic.'

The lady raises one eyebrow.

'Not that I'm criticising.' Sweat pool in my palms and over my brows. Maybe she's Rebecca's sister. I gulp. 'I'm just observing that, for my lesson, it would have helped.'

'And yet you didn't follow your first lesson plan...'

'I- ' Shit, that's true, I didn't think of that. 'Hmm, well, I had to adapt the class for the complete beginners as well as the more experienced dancers, so I just did what I had to do.'

They ask me questions about my plans then, all of the them, the whole series of twelve. No problem, I know it inside out. If they want to check that it's mine, I will leave them with no doubt.

'Do you think you might find it hard to actually follow a plan, a prescribed routine.'

'No, not at all,' I try to say with as straight a face as I can because I so want to laugh. If only they would have seen my life for the last three and a half years! Repeat prescribed routine that exhausted body and mind, that has been my daily script. What I am going to do without it?


	47. Chapter 47 - Teacher

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: It was tough for Christian to take a dance teacher exam and not actually dance, not really. At least he could unleash a bit for his class, well, only as much as the student's dire level allowed._

Teacher

And so begins my life.

I'm done with my exam. The blessed modern technology handed me my certificate that very same evening, but too late:I was already back to my tiny bed in my tiny shared room. I celebrated with a large take away from the end-of-the-street burger place.

At least that meant I had a half decent night's sleep. This should be my first real day of freedom since unofficially leaving The Company -I haven't answered any emails, texts or calls-, but what I do instead of enjoying it is return to my good ole' prison. When I think that's how I used to think of it back in first year and I had little other choice but to join the Academy.

Now, I'm raring to go. I head straight for Zach's office armed with my newly held Dance Teacher certificate, but instead of finding him there's an old lady sitting behind the desk sporting such a tight face as to make Miss Raine look jovial.

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry, I was looking for Za-,erm, Mr Andrews?'

'Come in, Mr Reed.' She comes over to close the door behind me. Then she returns to sit behind the now spotless desk, crosses her arms, narrows her eyes, and waits.

I wish I could be immune to this power play and yet my back still goes ram rod. 'I came to bring my teaching certificate.' I hold it out to her, now wishing I had bothered to put it in a folder, or an envelope.

She pouts. 'I see.' And she resumes her staring at me.

Of course that riles me up and throws stupid choices at me: I can play her game and stare back, I can slouch and pretend not to care, or I can be mature and smile amicably till she decide to actually say something more. All but one remains with me. I'm chuffed that I seem to finally be able to play the silence game.

Her smile grows in response of mine, if I can call the slight rise of the corner of her mouth that. 'When are you ready to start?'

Just the thought gets me all rearing to go, but I let my voice stay calm. 'As soon as you need me.'

'You think you are ready?'

My breath comes out slow and rather loud. I claim a chair and sit down, leaning forward on my elbows. 'My lessons are planned. I obviously know to expect great dancing abilities from the students.' Her eyes shrink to slits. 'I am not actually new to teaching, but I'm not deluding myself, this is bound to be a steep learning curve all the same.'

'I am glad you realise that. You are not much older than the students here, most of them know you from when you studied here yourself. This will make things harder still.'

 _Well, thank you for stating the obvious_ , is what I want to say. I keep it in. 'I will have to work with that. But I do have a credibility with Hip Hop that I might not have with Ballet. That's my asset.' I nod as if that might encourage her to do the same. 'I'm really looking forward to getting started.'

'I presume you would be happy for Mr Andrews to be your mentor here.'

I pause to think of that. I would love to claim that I need no mentoring, thank you very much. And that maybe, if I do need one, it might be better to have someone else than my ex-teacher stroke new colleague, both at the Academy and soon to be at the Memorial.

'Yes, of course.' I sound more secure than I thought I would be. I should be glad, really, because of all the teachers I used to have, beside Wilson who is not around, Zach is without a doubt my best match.

'Good. If you are as ready as you say you might as well start tonight. Last session, third years.'

I would love to beam and cheer, but I find myself only nodding. In an ideal world I would get to start with first years, whom I do not already know. But I would have to face the third years, who will eternally remain 'the ones who came after us' and were a right pain, through and through, so I might as well bite the bullet.

The old lady whose name still escape me stands up, making me rise to my feet in response. 'Mr Andrews is currently in studio one, please find him there. He can take you through the paperwork requirement and will show you around.'

''Show me around'', does she forget that I've spent three years of my life here?

She glances at me, from my toes to my chin. 'You will obviously have to wear suitable clothing.'

I peek at my stonewashed jeans. I wonder what she will make of my Hip Hop attire.

I say nothing and exit with a simple 'Thank you.'

I've got to say, it's good to be back. There's a smell about the place, a mixture or sweat and glue with a mingling mix of deodorants that is just incomparable to anything else. Even at The Company it doesn't smell the same, more medicated I think. Must be a youth thing.

I take my time experiencing what it's like to be roaming the corridors without a rush, without the stress, without the pressure. It's pretty damn good.

I watch as Zach finishes his lesson, checking what he says, how he says it, and especially what he chooses not to say.

The class files out at the end and I come in, the students eyes honed on me, the whispers loud but numerous enough not to be discernible.

Zach extends his hand to me and grabs my forearm. A mate shake that makes us level.

'I hear I'm to be your mentor, is that okay with you?'

Not so level then.

'Yeah, Of course.'

'Cool, well, you know as I do that I won't be much help with the content of your classes, and I am not sure I will do much better with the paperwork side of things...' We both smile at the memory of the state of his desktop. 'But at least I will do my best. Right, let me show you around.'

I screw up my eyebrows to let him know how ridiculous that sounds, but he ignores me. 'Follow me.'

I take it all back. If I thought I knew the place, I am proven wrong. I could locate the teachers offices and staff room, neither of which I have ever been in before, but I had no idea there was so much other stuff there. Video and music libraries that were beyond our reach, and reams and reams of books and folders to do with teaching. The greatest amount of it relating to assessment and grading.

Zach grabs one of the heaviest binders. 'We assess and rank students every week, if you remember well.'

Oh yes, I do. Not that it was an issue for me, at first. Second Year wasn't that great, Miss Raine had had no qualms about reminding me how behind I was falling, neither was Tara. This is not going to be something I will enjoy. Not at all.

Zach hands me a list of codes for the doors, a locker key, a form to fill to get my teacher pass, and a whole lot of other documents I need to read and sign. 'Mrs Tankard expects everything to be logged.'

'Great.'

'You'll just have to get used to it. When do you actually start?'

'Today.'

'Wow, are you ready?' he asks with great concern.

'Yeah yeah, sure I am, I've even got the lesson plan all written up.'

'Good. When are you on?'

'Six.'

'I'll see you after then, we can look at your paperwork.' And with that ominous promise he leaves.

There's a niggle inside my tummy that warns me that maybe that ''look'' might take longer than I want it to. It's been three four days since I've seen Tara. We've talked on the phone, a little, she gave me her opinion on my plans which were more helpful than I expected them to be, especially with preparing for the small details, but I need to see her. I need to feel like we can get back on track. Being far but connecting through the airwaves when I was on tour made us even closer, or so I thought, I am not willing to let her getting all upset over my choices jeopardise that. I just have no clue how I am going to rectify that though.

I take a seat at the large table in the resources room and settle down with my forms and try very hard not to give into the appeal of checking out whether they have anything decent, Hip Hop wise. Somehow I doubt it.

When my stomach cannot stand to be neglected any longer I rush out for some food, get ''home'' to get changed, bring my music and all the stuff I am likely to need.

I bury myself back into the archive room and plan to an inch of my life, Tara's voice reminding me to think of all the possible eventualities. I feel like a mother hen.

Five thirty comes around faster than I would have thought possible.

I make my way to studio eight, which is rather small but will have to do.

I get the ambience going with a steady beat and close my eyes. I play it all in my head, just like I do side stage. What I want to do, how I want it to happen, and what I'll do if it doesn't.

Twenty eight minutes later, the well known faces of the guys who made Kat's life hell turn up. I have to stop thinking of them that way, and actually learn their names. I may have battled with some of them I still have little clue as to who they are.

Remi comes right over and says ''Hi'', as if we're pals. No chance. I nod and move off the my teaching place. I suprise everyone by standing against the windows, not with my back to the mirrors.

'Okay everyone,' I say with the clearest voice I can master. 'This is how we are going to do this. Some of the lesson will always take place like this, with your backs to the mirrors. Hip Hop is about how dancing feels even more than how it looks, the beat needs to move you. So here we go. Find a space, listen to the music, when you are ready, move. No tricks yet.' I glance at Remi. 'We will leave that for later, there's too many bodies in here. Go.'

It's straight away obvious who are the aficionados and those who are ballet bots simply from where they choose the stand and how quickly they start to move. I love the cockiness of those who think they are acing it, and how I quickly I will burst their bubble and make them realise that there is a Hip Hop dancer in each and every one of them.

'Okay, register time. Adam.'

I check the guy out, and I don't tick my sheet. Instead I write these words. Dark hair, huge nose. Flexible mover, too much so.

And down I go, already assessing, hoping I will somehow remember who is whom at some point.

'Register done, warm up over. Let's get down to business. You've had a feel for the music, what it might mean to you. Have a go at creating a simple 8 beat choreography. Explore.' I walk around them, observing their interpretations. I get a sudden flash back of my first Hip Hop class, all these years ago. How Kat already shone as a natural. How much Sammy loved it despite his scrawny limbs flapping about, the posh school boy image not leaving him for a second. How stiff poor Abigail was. How much this has changed.

And Tara.

Tara who kept on smiling at Kat despite being so far out of her depth. How it didn't change much , even over the years. How I ditched her suggestions to make the rest of Kaylah's crew laugh after a frustrating rehearsal. How I had been so wrong to do so. How she saved the day not because she is the best dancer, but because she's the best at understanding people, when she takes the time to listen. How I told her I loved her. How she said it right back. How much I wish I could still say that and not fear her response.

I shake my head, my thoughts, my feelings off to the sides. _Focus, Cheds!_

'Okay. Split the class in half, check out what others are doing, see if there's anything you could build into a longer choreography. Be open minded, reach out to understand what others are seeing in this work.'

I had no ideas how easy it is to categorise us: the ballet bots are still confused, the contemporary cyborg are perplexed, the character performers don't know who they are supposed to be and their pretence doesn't work, and that will be a tough act for most of them, but the Hip Hop homies seem to enjoy it. Remi is not beaming yet, but it will come.

I wait for the last twenty minutes to let them get a bit loose and do tricks. I strongly believe that Hip Hop is about finding your own speech, your own expression, hence how I am going to teach this. But it gets itchy having the beat in my ears and not to let my body move. So every-so-often I take my turn in the centre and bust some tricks. Nothing too showy, well, just.

I demonstrate some easier trick for those more unsure. It's a blast. I am flying in that land that is pure dance and fun. I'm keeping watch on Remi and one of his pal who seem to think themselves superior. I have read the code of conduct. One step out of line and the disciplinary ladder will drop down on them. I am not afraid to use it.

Last five minutes. 'Okay,' I say as I take them through a calmer stretchy routine. 'Home work for the next lesson: work on your choreographic idea, thirty two beats. Over the next few weeks, we will build choreographies that suits your styles, and what you have to say. Bring music suggestions if you have any. I won't guarantee we'll use them, just remember that. Okay, left knee...' As I hear myself say this I realise that I'm really going to have to drop the ''okay''.

I am tidying up my stuff when I notice Remi and co edging over and checking my clipboard. I don't believe they should be able to read my messy handwriting, but I am not taking chances. I flip it over with a smile that dare them to complain.

Zach comes in when everyone has filled out. 'Maxine passed by. She seemed to like what she saw.'

'Maxine?'

'Mrs Tankard. The principal.'

'Ah, okay, good.'

'You don't know who she is, do you?'

'Well now I know.'

Zach shakes his head as if I am being an idiot. 'How did you think it went?'

'Good, as planned, actually.'

'Okay, ready for the hard part?'

'You are going to tell me I have to grade them already, aren't you.'

'Fraid so.'

And I was right, I'm not enjoying this at all. I can tell who has natural ability or not, who has potential and who I'm going to have to work harder with to break through their 'this is not for me' shell. But what I'm asked to do is read a whole lot of nonsense, tick tick tick or cross, and reduce these guys to percentages.

'Part of the job, mate,' Zach says, feeling my disapproval.

'But not at the memorial.'

'Oh God no,' he agrees and we both laugh.

It's nine pm by the time we are done. He says I will get faster. And that I have to write up a lesson evaluation asap, and show how my assessment feeds into my next plan. His words, back in the day when he offered me this post, come back to haunt me. He wasn't joking, paperwork is something I should have been scared of. Before long I will be walking around with reams of clipboards and folders, Miss Raine style.

I get a strange sense of pride as we both walk out together, but instead of heading straight for the doors Zach stops me at the reception desk, where he leans over and hands me a pass with my photo on it, the one The Company used for their website. I can't make myself think about how The Academy got it. I just stare at the plastic card in my hand that means so much more to me than a yellow contract.

This is it. I am now officially a teacher.

Future, here I come.


	48. Chapter 48 - Leopards

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian walked into The Academy ready to take on his post as freelance Hip Hop teacher. He had been warned about paperwork nightmare, but he wasn't quite ready for how bad it could be. The teaching part though, that's a bliss._

A Leopard Doesn't Change His Spots

I knock, I may very well have a key but I'm polite enough not to barge in.

'Come in,' she calls, and I love the way she knows it's got to be me and not a random neighbour out to borrow sugar or something.

The sight of her catches me so much by surprise though that for a second I feel like I need to blink and check again.

Since I started to teach two weeks ago I've been eating lunch with her every day, and I've come over for most evenings too, when I managed to finish my stupid paperwork not too ridiculously late. That Mrs Tankard doesn't joke about with paperwork. It might be her second love after dance. I sometimes wonder if it's not the other way round.

So coming in and catching Tara sitting at the high table, her laptop opened in front of her, that's usual. But she's wearing a suit jacket, and her hair is up in a bun.

And not just any bun, but one of those posh ones that looks like a tornado has been stuck to the back of her head, the wide mouth curling at the top. A quiff like structure sits above her brow, making her chin even more pointy. And she is wearing make-up, eyes lined with blue, cheeks blushed, lips shiny with gloss. Complete with a white shirt and pencil skirt, Tara looks like she is ready to head off for an office job she hasn't got.

I was about to drop my rucksack at the corner behind the door, like I always do, but I hitch it back up. 'Are you going somewhere?'

'Me, no. Why?'

The question is so preposterous I answer with my hands, gesticulating at her attire, before the words come out. 'You're all dressed up.' I state the obvious.

'Oh, that, that's nothing.'

I can feel my right eyebrow rise high on my forehead.

She spots it. 'I'm waiting for a call.'

'Tara, you are going to have to make sense soon, cause I still don't get the link. Who is calling you?'

'Angela.'

'Angela who?'

'Angela,' Tara says, her hands flapping in excitement in front of her face. 'The girl with the party blog in Melbourne, she's going to call!'

'So dressing up is to get into role or something?'

'What?'

'Well, she's not going to see you on the phone.'

'Oh, no, not on the phone, online,' she points at her laptop.

Now that makes a little more sense. But still, I don't get it. Why on earth is Tara pretending to be someone she is not? She is helping organise parties, not going for CEO position in a bank.

I leave it at that though. I have my touchy subjects, this would be one of Tara's. She's respecting mine, I shall return the favour.

'Okay.' I nod. 'Do you want me to go then? I don't want to be in the way.'

Tara glances at me in surprise. 'No, stay. Of course, stay.'

And that's one of the things I love about coming to Tara's. It's not my home, nothing here is of mine apart from one or two spare T-shirts and a toothbrush in case I do stay over to sleep on the sofa. And yet I feel at home here. Nothing in my house would be pink, there would be no trophies or diplomas in sight, and probably no pilates equipment either, that's a given, but when I am here I can be me. Tara and I might talk, we might watch TV, or read books, each on our side of the sofa, or facing each other over the table, both working on our laptops, or we can do something completely different, it really doesn't matter. We are cool, comfy, at ease.

But of course it is not that simple. We have made our peace. I guess it helps that Tara can see how much I am loving teaching, well most of it, that is.

The whole thing about being in front of a class and getting them to move in ways they haven't before, be it the supposedly expert at The Academy or the small bunch of boys who have started coming to the Memorial to get me started, it's just amazing. It's the proof that I was right. That this is it for me.

She can see that in the smile that doesn't leave my lips even when I am exhausted.

And yet there's that little niggling thought playing in my head that this is just a front, that I am not being transparent, that despite all our friendly comfort, I still wish for more.

That when we read side by side, I do look up and stare at her for as long as I dare.

That when we watch movies I hope for that time when she might grab my hand because she is scared, or sad, or she finds something too beautiful and she just has to share her emotion. She's not even aware she is doing, such is her total involvement with the story.

And then I hope for those times when she drifts towards me in tiredness and might end up with her head over my shoulder.

I live for these times, I crave them.

When they don't happen, it's no easy task to hide my disappointment.

Like my Njroki role, I'm being two faced.

It's not who I want to be but what else could I do?

It's not as if she has made any of these actions carry more weight than ''look, we are friends, it's so good to be so at ease with each other. Aren't we lucky?'' She doesn't say this in so many words, but her smile, that gentle twinkling in her eyes, they say it all.

Resigned, I settle myself across from her and get my book out.

'How is the blog going then?'

'Fantastic. I have another bunch of followers since last week and two people sponsored me even if I didn't give them specific advice. And I have another party to plan for next month. It's all a bit scary, to be honest.'

'But really exciting,' I say, taking in the proud smile creeping on her lips.

'Yes,' she nearly squeals. But then the ring ring of weblink grabs her attention.

She wriggles on her seat, tuck a non-existent unruly strand of hair behind her ear and rattles her throat before hitting 'accept'.

Her eyes open wide in shock and suddenly I am filled with stranger danger warnings and what a crazy perv might be doing right now. I wheel around the table to stand beside her, ready to take her out of freeze by slamming the screen down, but what I see is innocent enough. There appears a young woman, maybe only just older than Tara, with her hair looking decidedly greasy, scrunched up in a loose ponytail, no make-up, huge dark lines under her eyes and not just a few piercings dotted about her face.

'Hi Tara, my goodness you look so professional.'

'Oh, erm, yes, I guess so.'

Tara's hand reaches out to her hair, but I still it. She glances at me in total confusion. But then, she returns her eyes to the screen.

Angela, if that is her real name, has started chatting in a happy banter, asking about her blog and how it is going, commenting on how great her last article was.

Tara unfreezes. She is still wearing the same silly disguise, but now she is behaving like herself, the curve of her smile natural and easy, her voice returns to its natural lilts and rounded cadences. Tara is finally being who she truly is.

Relieved I leave them to it and go to lounge on the sofa to read.

They carry on chatting for over an hour, and I have read next to no pages. Half of the time I spent looking at her, the excitement playing on her face, the scrunch of her eyebrows when she processed new information, the pride when she retold one of her successes. It's like a little show just for me to see.

'Okay, I'd better go,' I hear from the computer.

'Sure. Oh, can I asked you one more question?'

'Go ahead.'

'You look very different on the photo in your professional profile.'

'Oh yeah, that was taken a little while ago, and I had removed all my jewellery, had tonnes of make-up on. One of those crazy make-over thing. Looks good though, no? very ''professional''?'

'Yes,' Tara says a bit unclearly, as if the words got stuck with an uncomfortable swallow.

'You haven't got a photo on yours, have you?'

'No.'

'Take a screen shot now, you look great.'

'Thanks. Can-' Tara gulped, visibly so. 'Can I ask why you took your piercings off, I mean, if you do meet client, then they get to see you ''you'', right?'

Angela laughed. 'Ah no, they don't. If it's a punk themed party, I would go as a punk. If it's classy, all the metal gets taken out, the pastel colours come in. You've got to go with what the client wants, like this they trust you to know what you are on about.'

'I see, makes sense, thanks.'

'No problems, it's cool to share ideas, I mean, it's not as if we are competing, there's plenty enough to do in Melbourne without feeling a need to branch out intercity! Just so long as you don't try to take over my turf.'

'Of course not!'

'I'm joking. God, look at your face! Okay, It's been good to chat, let's catch up again soon then.'

'Yes, let's.'

One single ping and Tara finally lifts her gaze up from the screen, and all the joyous feel of the last hour drains out of her.

'I am such an idiot.'

I am up and by her side in seconds. 'No, you're not.'

'Oh really,' she snaps at me. 'So I haven't just done all this,' she points at her outfit, 'for nothing?'

'Why did you in the first place?'

Tara huffs, her fingers running across her keyboard at a speed that I'm sure she was unable to reach before the accident. Writing a blog seems to be a good way to increase your touch-type abilities.

'Look,' she says turning the screen towards me. 'Look at her, that's what she is supposed to look like!'

On a sleek looking professional network site Tara's found a large portrait of the same girl, but looking about ten years older, all smooth and acceptable by any standards.

'Oh, I see.'

'And here I am, wanting to match that when in real life she's a mess.'

I tut. 'Training bra, she's not a mess, she seems pretty grounded to me. And being pierced doesn't mean she's a mess.'

'It's not the piercing, it's the whole pretending to be what the client wants. That's creepy.'

I close my mouth to stop words from tumbling out. I wait.

And wait.

But Tara says nothing more. She just stares in the distance.

Of course I want to point out there are others who have tried very hard to adapt to please, or to fit. Or I could joke about people dying their hair to look like their idols, or going all punk rock as a vengeance plan, or sporting the hoody as if that would automatically give her 'street cred', all of which she had done copiously in her first two years at the Academy. But that would be rude, and not just a little sanctimonious. She knows all this and me reminding her, well, how on earth could that be helpful?

I try to recall what Tara says when she is listening to me and manages not to make me feel judged.

'It's upsetting you,' I try.

'Yes. I mean, I feel cheated.'

'Cheated,' I repeat. It's a weird thing to do, and still so obviously unnatural to me that I'm sure I'm gonna be found out as a fraud straight away but she is nodding emphatically.

'Yes, cheated.' Tara points back at the screen. 'She promotes herself as something she's not.'

'A grunge girl pretending to be sleek.'

'And everything else in the middle if that's what suits.'

I wait a little bit. 'She seems to have trusted you with the truth.'

Tara raises her eyebrow at me, as if conceding that I'm making a good point. Which I am, I guess. This whole listening business is making me feel pretty wise. Maybe that's why things are so much better between us since our last fall out. I listen when she speaks, she listens when I do.

'And there I am, all prepped. She must think I'm so stuck up.'

'Tara, your clothes are only one side of the story. When you talked to her, you were you. And there is no way you're stuck up.'

Tara glances at me, then lets her head collapse within the folds of her arms on the table. 'That's you not counting my posh attempt at saying 'hi.'

I smile. 'That didn't last long.'

Tara peeks at me from the corner of her elbow, but her eye is crinkled at the corner. She is smiling.

After a huge sigh, Tara releases her hair from its many pins, letting her hair cascade over her back and shoulders. 'No more pretending. And when I meet a client, well if I ever do, I will be myself. I can plan a punk party looking like me. If they don't trust me to do that, then they shouldn't be hiring me in the first place.'

I grab a seat and pull it to sit beside her. 'So this is serious. Party planning is what you want to do? Really?'

Tara smile that crooked smile with tilted head that she has when she thinks I'm saying something silly. 'You know how much I LOVE parties.'

I nod slowly despite the fact that my chest is constricting on itself at what I am about to say. 'Yes, and I know how much you love ballet.'

Tara gives me a wistful look. After three years of her trying to get me to be more committed to my dancing, after the whole affair of her being so upset that I gave it up, there I am, getting pissed off at the thought that she might be giving up on the dream. It doesn't take me long to realise how selfish I am being, that I want her to stick to her plans because if she doesn't, she might move on, and where would that leave me?

Her mind seems to have been as busy as mine when she finally answers: 'Yes, how much I loved it.'

I gulp.

'How much I love it still.'

Tara reaches out to hide her face in the hollow of my shoulder. I circle her with my arms, her mouth so close to my neck I feel the speed of her halting breathing.

'But I need to be ready. Ballet might not ever be an option for me anymore.' She pushes herself away from me again, her eyes sad but resolute.

'I know it was never promised to me,' she continues. 'I knew that all along, and yet, despite the mathematical improbability, I still believed I would make it.' She closes her eyes and keeps them shut, as if the avowal is too shameful to look at in full daylight. 'I still want it.'

Then she stares at me, straight in the eyes. 'I want it as bad as I wanted it then, so bad it hurts, but I can't pretend that it just has to happen, because it might very well not. And I want to be ready for that eventuality.'

I witness the determination in her eyes and how it guts my inside. I should have an escape route too. I want her and that might not ever happen again, but I want her so bad that I can't even think of any other alternatives. I can't afford to give myself options. I want it so bad all I can do is keep my eyes on that slim possibility till I make it real.

It took for Tara to fall to get some perspective in life. It has taken for me to lose Tara to find my quest.

 **Author's note: Do feel free to leave a comment in the review box, that really helps writers learn and get motivated to keep going ;-)**


	49. Chapter 49 - Courage

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian came to see Tara only to find her dressed to kill at an office job interview when all she was doing was trying to impress a fellow blogger, whose appearance reminded her that she needs to stay true about who she is, and that it will have to include facing whether her body is ready to try ballet again._

Courage

I come to pick her up and I don't know who's the most jittery.

We have tossed and turned the whole decision through and through. Even how to get there. Bus or bike? Long winded with perfect bun in place or easy of the ride with helmet hair? In the end the choice was easy.

She comes down to meet me as I wait by the curb, her smile pinched, her cheeks pale. She dons the helmet with a sigh. I can't image how it will fit without poking bobby pins into her scalp but she's saying nothing and the strap seems to fit okay under her chin.

Then up she comes, using me as a ladder like she always does, so it shouldn't send thrills down my spine into my stomach, but it does, as it did when she first climbed behind me and every time since.

She's settled and yet I do not start the bike. I stay put, her body pressed safely against my back, my chest acting as her shield.

'I think we should go,' she says, sounding all muffled.

She's right. But I like her right where she is. Yet off we go, leaving the safety of the known behind.

It's a decent ride through the town and then lounging the coast on the other. The view should be breathtaking as we cross the bridge but all I can focus on is the stretch of black tarmac.

Thankfully we find this other dance school, a brick box of a building that has none of the charm of the pier that hosts The Academy.

I stop right at the front, but for some reason I'm leaving the gas on, as if I'm readying to whisk her away again.

But no.

This is what she wants.

This is what she needs to do.

I kill the engine and let her climb down. I check my watch. We are early, of course. Tara had insisted in allocating time for city traffic, which I knew was not needed, but still didn't argue. Not worth it. Time with Tara is more time with Tara, wherever it is spent.

And I won't spend it away from her any more than I need to. I get off my bike.

We had not discussed whether I should come in with her or not. She will have to tell me otherwise because if she doesn't, then I'm in.

We push through the wide doors lighting the tiny lobby. No one's there, so we just look at the many photos and posters hanging everywhere like in any other self-respecting dance school.

Without warning Tara suddenly grabs my hand.

Is she about to escape or in need to be tethered down, I have no idea. I would do either for her, if I didn't know better. So tether it is as I stay right where I am.

Her hands slips through mine as footsteps echo down the flight of stairs. A slimmer, younger and blonder version of Miss Raine extends her hand with a welcoming smile.

'You must be Tara.'

'Yes.'

The teacher's attention falls on me, her eyes widening, her smile now stretched to maximum capacity. 'Mr Reed, well, hello, what owes us the pleasure?'

I quickly look at Tara's closed off face. 'I, erm, well, I'm just bringing Tara, that's all.'

This makes her look at Tara again, a thought of recognition passing across her features. 'Tara! Oh, I didn't make the link. You-'

'Yes,' Tara replies quickly to stop the comment before it is out.

'You were silver prize at the Prix de Fonteyn!'

Tara lifts her face in surprise, as if she had completely forgotten. As if anyone else would have forgotten too.

'That was a long time ago.'

'Well, not that long at all. I am sorry, I have booked you into the intermediate class, I thought that was what you requested, I must have misheard.'

'Ah, erm, no you didn't, I did ask for that class.'

I stare in shock. A beginner's class?

The lady looks taken aback. 'But surely...'

'I have a back injury. I need to start very low.'

'Oh, I see. Have you been cleared for taking classes again?'

'Yes.' Tara fumbles through her bag, pointedly turning her back to me to block off any possible eye contact. 'Here.' She hands her an Academy headed letter.

'That was written five weeks ago.'

'Yes.' Tara's eyes are on the floor, but then they lift up, her chin tilting upwards.

I'm not loving finding out that there's a whole lot of facts I don't know about, but I love the fire and boldness that now ignite her. She's going to need it.

'That's right,' she continues with more verve in her voice. 'But I wasn't ready. I am now.'

'Very well. Let me show you around. The class you booked is starting in ten minutes. There are two other classes at the same time this afternoon, one is pas-de-deux but the other is Advanced 1 if you would consider this instead, you would be welcomed there.'

Tara simply nods, but her eyebrows are tight. No one is going to change her mind.

The lady who has not introduced herself yet beams at me. 'And of course if you wanted, you could join us too. You were remarkable in your role with The Company, your expertise would greatly benefit our students here.'

Tara is staring decidedly into the distance again.

'No,' I nearly snap. 'but thank you,' I add more politely, but too late.

'Well,' she responds curtly. 'Please follow me.'

She can be annoyed as much as she wants, I'm here for Tara.

I grab Tara's hand and whisper, 'what do you want me to do?' Because if I'm being honest I would love to dance with Tara right now. To be at the barre right behind her, ready to encourage, to tone down, to catch even. But she probably doesn't even want me to watch.

'Do you want me to leave you to it?'

She nods quickly, her eyes unsettled and filled with anxiety.

The piano notes fill the air from the studios above and they hit me like a thousand pin prickles, bringing back to the surface all the niggling moments when I have been walking around The Academy and been pulled insatiably towards the studios. The weird desire to stretch when waiting somewhere, to pirouette in the corridors, to leap in open spaces. The push to demonstrate more than I should when I teach, which I work hard to subdue. The longing of joining Zach's class which ends just before mine starts. I didn't think it was possible but I have to admit the impossible. I am missing Ballet. And not just ballet: Company standard Ballet.

I grab Tara's other hand and push through them all that hunger, that desire and drive, to remind her how much she might be missing it too.

Maybe it works too well, for her eyes fill with watery shine.

'Tara, it will be alright,' I say as I squeeze her fingers before letting them go. 'It will.'

And this is not a platitude or a spineless cliché. It will be alright, whichever way it goes.

I watch her leave then I head back outside. I sit on the steps, out of the way of the stragglers rushing in. I put my MP3 on and try to get lost in Hip Hop. But no. I cannot get my mind into it.

That's unheard of.

So I sneak in.

I full well know I shouldn't but I still do.

Up the stairs I go, past one studio with three girls rehearsing, another with the pas-de-deux class, and I don't dare go any further. This will have to be my fix, looking at young dancers learning the ABC of partner work. I can remember it all so well. How tough it was at first for all of us. Not least of all those stupid so called ''trust'' exercises where I got Tara's back completely up. How I had wished already back then that she would take me at my dare and let me kiss her. Not that I had a chance in hell. That is so not who she was then, who she is still.

I check how the boys place their hands below the waist to steady their ballerinas. It took so long it took for Tara to trust me, for it to work for us. I remember like it was yesterday how it all had changed when she finally got her pointe shoes back. We laughed so much. It felt like the beginning of something before it all crashed down again with a slip of a kiss, from her perspective. I had been gunning for it. She denied it at the first opportunity.

Dancing together after that, and worst still after she saw Kat kiss me at the party, it was torturous hell. And then, then there was the beach, and the kissing, it became daily doses of pure heaven.

I turn my back on the dancer and slide against the wall till I'm sitting on the floor and take time to think it all over, our past. What made it so good, what inevitably made it so wrong, and how it has to change. We are listening to each other now, there is more trust. But look at us: I am stuck in friend zone when I want so much more.

I scan through all my failures. The jealousy, the trying to hint that her choice of boyfriend was wrong, that she should consider me instead. The pestering and always being around. The inviting closeness that she said she didn't want. The giggling with other girls to make her jealous. That had worked, but I am beyond that cheap trick. At the farm it had been so easy.

I am still racked with shame at my dire attempt at getting her back in the club when I was so low and so torn. That was tacky and disrespectful to the extreme.

All things considered, from the wisdom, of hindsight, it was good that she pushed me away then. It took me a long time to see clear, and I had to hurt some of my best mates in the process, but that clarity now might be worth it. Maybe.

All I know is that I am fast running out of chances, like a cat on its ninth life.

What do other people, normal people do? They don't stalk the object of their attention into submission, so what?

I have always hated the word 'date', it sounds so lame, so pink and fluffy. But a date might be exactly what we need, maybe even a lot of them. And that doesn't sound that dreadful at all.

Tara comes out last of her class. I had got up by then to let the others through, so she finds me still standing outside the other studio.

'Did you look?' she asks in barely covered disappointment.

'No, of course not. I was tempted, I admit, but I knew you wouldn't want me to. So... How did it go?'

Tara shrugs. 'I'm ready to go home.'

'Wanna change first?'

Tara nods and just heads for the changing rooms.

I am by my bike when she comes back out. Wordlessly she takes her helmet and waits for me to climb on.

'Shall we go and have something to eat first?'

Tara tilts her head as she thinks, then pouts. 'Okay.'

'Burger time then.'

We ride all the way to just outside of my hood. It's been a long while since I've been there. Since Sammy came to find me to bust me out of my funk and back fighting for my freedom. My favourite burger joint. It's me in a bun. That will have to do as a first ''date''.

'So?' I ask her as we sit outside in the wind of at the top of the skate park.

Tara hesitates. I cannot read a single clue on her face. 'It was okay.'

'Okay.'

Tara nods. 'I am not in pain, yet.'

'That's good, not okay.'

'Yes, I guess so.'

'And the class itself, was Madam any good?'

'The class was... easy.'

'That's good too.'

A gentle blush races across her cheeks. 'Yes.'

'So?'

'So what?'

'Are you going to go back?'

Tara follows the skaters with her eyes as they go up and down the half pipe. 'I'm going to have to find a job.'

'What?' Am I missing a link there?

'I don't have a scholarship anymore. If I want to study ballet at a decent school like this, I will have to earn something, quite a bit actually.'

'I see.'

'And I probably need to find a new home. I can't keep on living with Abigail like this. Well, without Abigail. Maybe it's time I rejoined real life. It's long overdue really.'

I should feel so glad. I should be relieved for her. This is a huge step forward, just too huge for me. I wish I could rewind the day and start over with the normality of going to her flat, for me to go up instead of her coming down, for us to have a cosy lunch rather than crossing over town and kick start all this possible change.

I'm being a wuss.

I take a deep breath. Change, it can also mean opportunities.

'Maybe we could find somewhere together. I earn enough now to get out of my cell.'

'Oh.' Tara's blush upgrades to full strength red beacons. It would be cute and maybe even promising if the rest of her face was not so forlorn.

'I mean, you might not want that. Maybe that would be too weird.' _Oh shut up Cheds!_

'I- I'll think about it. I mean, I don't think I can move right now, you know. I'm going to take time over this.

With this new possibility, I'm not so keen for normality to come back. Tara is dancing. She is projecting into the future. I'm going to have to do what it takes to remain a part of those plans, and the ones further still. And if it takes dates, then dates it will be.

 **Author's note: I hope you've enjoyed the little flash backs as well as the reality of the present events. As always I really welcome comments and/or reviews.**


	50. Chapter 50 - Mixed Up

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Christian took Tara to her first dance lesson with very mixed feelings: hope that she could be on the mend, fear that this might take her away from him. How is he supposed to plan his life when it never settles into anything steady?_

 **Mixed Up**

Cold Turkey

Four weeks. It's been four weeks since I ''left'' The Company. Three weeks since I started teaching. One week since Tara took her first class.

This life that I have so been looking forward to, my ''real'' life, I'm loving it, and yet not as much as I was convinced I would.

I get such a buzz from teaching Hip Hop at the Academy. It's not easy, far from it. The students there are only just accepting me, especially the third years. There's too much history there to make it a smooth transition from enemy to teacher. It's of course easier with the first years who never knew me, they are all in awe that a guy who has just danced with The Company can also bust tricks. I guess their general relief of doing something else than ballet also counts for their enthusiasm.

I've got two bunch of kids coming to the Memorial and a semi-regular basis. The pain is having to bring them back to base every time new members show up when I want to start pushing on. I'm going to have to find a solution to that, even if it's just the good old 'dive in and try to swim''.

I finally thought I would have plenty time on my hands, and I do, just not as much as I expected. Much of it is spent with Tara. That I can't complain about. Too much of it relates to paperwork. That I'm not so keen on.

So I'm busy, very busy, and yet I'm still restless.

Tara watches me weird sometimes, or puts a hand on my knee when my fidgeting leg gets too much for her when we both sit on the sofa.

I try everything that used to be my outlets. I surf, I skate, and swim, and run... It's still not enough.

The worst of it is that I am continually finding myself standing somewhere near The National Ballet Company, even though that was nowhere near my original destination. Sure it is right round the corner from the Academy and the Memorial, but still!

That's where I am, right now, just beyond it, as I see the people who, not so long ago, were my fellow dance partners.

And then I spot Rebecca.

I don't know quite how but my hand gets up in the air and my mouth is calling her name.

She stops and checks, then recognises me. She doesn't lift her hand. She doesn't cross the road to come and see me, she just stands there.

So I cross. I have no clue what I am going to say until I hear the words come out: 'I was wondering whether I could still come and train with you in the morning.'

'Train with us for what?' She glares at me for what she seems to consider an affront. 'So that you can then go off and dance with another company?'

'What? No!'

She squints as if that's going to help her look straight inside me. She can do that all she wants, I am so caught up in surprise I might as well be an open book.

'I have had endless queries. If you wanted to there are many options for you.'

'But I don't want them.'

There goes the eyebrow. 'Are you looking for employ with us, then?'

'No!' I nearly shout. 'I mean, no, thank you. I just would like to keep up with my training.'

'And what is in it for me?'

That rattles me no end. 'Nothing.'

'We do sometimes allow other dancers to join us for class, for a fee, of course, but it is never long term. There are other amateur classes we do offer...'

'Forget I said anything,' I say, swivelling on my heels.

'Still so impetuous.' She takes hold of my elbow to spin me back round. 'I am sure we can come to an arrangement.'

'I told you to forget it.'

'Christian, you haven't changed much and neither have I. A favour for a return. You can train with us in morning class, every morning, for the return favour that you will accept to be a stand in if ever we need you to. That's is not a very hard compromise, I think.'

I want to toss her offer right back in her face and kick myself in the chin for having been so impulsive. My advice to Tara clearly should not apply to me. But here I am again, in the power of this temptress ready to give me what I want, but never for free, ever.

'Morning class whenever I want or can, no obligation to come every morning.'

'I am glad we are bartering, Mr Reed. Let's add to that occasional practices too, for you would be of little use to us if you are not familiar with our repertoire, it would be for corps work only, of course.'

'That sounds okay.'

'For the time being,' she says with that trade mark smirk that can pass as a smile, just. 'When Ballet catches you, it doesn't let go easily.' She turns back to the staff entrance of The Company. 'Pleasure to make business with you, Mr Reed, as always.'

And I am left standing, torn between feeling like I've been played and yet at the same time internally rearing to go and wanting for it to be tomorrow morning already.

Coming back is, of course, not as easy as I thought. Four weeks is a life time in top level dancing, and my body who was being so adamant it needed to be pushed is now rebelling and telling me to ease off. No amount of massage is getting the ache out of my Achilles, even less the one in my neck.

Tara says I'm too stressed, and maybe I am. I keep on thinking that it will get easier when I find my stride with my teacher's role. Being in front of class, no issues. Assessing, I am getting the hang of it, halving the time it first took me. Planning to fit the assessment criteria, that's fine. But dealing with the reactions to the grading? That's when I want to disappear.

But I won't be a coward. It's their grades. If they're not happy with them, they can just work harder.

Mixed

I wanted a simple life.

I wanted to teach.

Sounds easy enough.

And then I had to put my messy mixed up spin on it.

So now I'm training with The Company in the mornings. The rest of the dancers look at me like I'm a freak. They are quite right.

I meet up Tara, I take her to her class. She lets me watch now. She has her ups and down. But at least she dances with more smiles than frowns. I keep telling her she needs to trust her body. That she knows. I doubt she finds that very helpful, no matter how right I think I am.

After that I teach one of my kids group at the Memorial. Tara tends to stay around. She wishes we could move the boys on to ballet already. There's no way this is going to work just yet. They are struggling already as it is.

And then I teach my Hip Hop, tolerate the ensuing paperwork, cope with the students that are still resisting the art form, the ones who think they know it all, and the ones that are completely lost. That last group make me feel useless.

Then it's back at Tara's for dinner and TV, not that I ever get to see the end of whatever it is we might be watching. Not great friend material, let alone the potential boyfriend I am trying to show her I could be. I think she's as oblivious as can be, or maybe even worst, she see right through me and ignores it completely.

I should be there right now, but tonight we had a staff meeting. I came ready to be treated as substandard due to my age and subject... Well, I should have readied myself for even worst. I came out of it seething so bad I went straight for an empty studio and danced my rage and last bit of energy for more than one hour.

I'm calmer now. That's what dancing has always been for me: exploding what was festering inside.

I'm glad I stayed over so late though. I love the Academy like this, the corridors dark and deserted; the sound of my steps echoing against the walls with no bodies about to cushion the effect. And yet there is a buzzing, a dull sound disturbing the emptiness.

It becomes more distinct as I follow its lead towards the furthermost studio.

Studio bookings end at 10pm. It's 11.30. No one should be here this late, not even me.

The pounding sound of electronic music that I hate effortlessly blares through the thin walls. I slow down before I pass the large windows. Even in the dimness of the corridor my eyes have to adjust to the semi darkness within, the studio being only lit up by the side lights in the waiting area.

I get all teacher-y, my back straightening, my brow furrowing, ready for telling off whoever is breaking the rules, feeding on a confidence I don't actually possess, one that I haven't yet earned. A fake. But still.

I scan through the room to size up my opponent but there's no one to be seen. Maybe a student just let a CD on before they left.

My hand reaches for the door handle but freezes mid-way.

A long, slim figure dressed in what looks like red leotard and tights uncurls from the middle of the floor.

He might be turning his back to me and looking down, but there is no mistaking his short poker straight hair. There is no confusion either about what is going to happen. His feet are in fifth, toes to heels, his arms softly curve at his side: Masukio is about to dance.

The thumping track melts into another.

Masukio shifts.

From that soft pose, his moves switch to bold and strong, very masculine as he leaps.

That shouldn't shock me, he is an athletic ballet dancer. Nothing surprising there. But it's still all wrong. Are my ears going wrong or is he really dancing classical ballet to techno music?

Without preamble or direct response to beat he shifts again. He softens into something so much gentler, his body shaping up in high-rise arabesques, in dainty pirouettes.

There isn't much I should like in this, and yet I am mesmerised.

And that's when I notice something else is off. Masukio is tall, but not this tall. And his turns have a different quality, as if his centre of gravity has changed. My eyes scan down his body as he circles the room until I spot his feet, arched up and thinned out. Pointe shoes. Red ones. Of course my mind flashes back to Tara. How could it not? The arabesques, the rounded arms, the gentle fold of the legs for the soft pliés. Masukio is dancing like a girl.

But before I can get my mind around it, it has changed again. The leaps grow in strength, in stealth, regaining their masculine traits, the fast turns, the bold arms. He is back at the centre and does what looks like a thousand turns, his legs changing position, at times straight or folded, in sharp lines or curved ones, once again mixing the genders. There seems to be no pattern, no premeditation, but as I watch more closely it becomes obvious that there is a response to the music, but not harmonious, not what so ever.

At first he effeminates the moves when the music feels strongest, and does the most masculine ones when the beat softens into the trance-like parts, but actually this is wrong too. He balances them equally. It makes it unpredictable and therefore even more mind blowing.

The song drifts to an end.

In the sudden absence of noise, my stomach clenches as if I am the one in the wrong place at the wrong time and about to be caught. Maybe there is truth in this. But as a teacher, even a casual one, I have more rights to be here than he does.

Before I can get my thoughts organised Masukio has rewound through the track to rehearse the last few moves again.

This was indeed choreographed. My chest fills up with the weird kind of pride, as if I have just struggled against a tricky puzzle and came out victorious.

And then Masukio disappears in the darkest corner where the stereo stands and I shuffle from foot to foot. What the heck am I supposed to do now?

I don't get to choose.

Masukio opens the door, his face a whole head higher than mine. His eyes grow wide in surprise, then fill with greyness. That's when I notice the paleness of his face, the length of the lashes, the blueness of his eyelids, all the way to the eyebrows. Make-up.

In a knee-jerk reaction I am suddenly staring at the floor, as if I can't bring myself to look at him, at his embarrassment, his shame. If I were to go through with this motion I would also step back and let him through. But I stay in his way.

I force myself to look back at him, level in my gaze and in my stance. 'That was something else.'

Mazukio's neck seems to shrink into his shoulder, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

'I have never seen anything like it,' I continue, till I realise how that could be taken and misread.

'How long have you been working on it?' I add as quickly as I can.

Masukio shrugs. Not something I associate with Japanese culture. Masukio must be learning the Aussie ways fast.

'My mate Sammy had to dance on pointe to strengthen his ankles, he said it hurt like hell. Well, his feet looked like they had gone through hell for sure,' I try to joke.

Masukio's features, normally so soft and unassuming, become hard.

'I not gay,' he spits out. He steps back, as if I have now turned dangerous.

In an invisible line of symmetry I take a reverse step too, my hands going up in peace offering. 'Okay.' I shrug. 'Neither am I, and neither did I think you might be. Not that I would care anyway. I have plenty friends on either side of that fence. It's all good with me.'

His gaze softens then. It takes me a second too long to realise it softens too much. Masukio slides all the way to his haunches, his bag slipping to the floor.

'My parents not see that way.'

I crouch low to his level, at a safe distance so that he knows I am respecting his personal space. When he finally sits down, so do I.

I am about to tell him what I think of parents as a rule when I remember how Tara is becoming with me. How she doesn't pry, how she gives me time.

'Hmm,' I say, copying her. If he looked up he would see that I am empathetically nodding too.

When nothing comes out of him I ask ,'They think you're gay?'

Masukio sighs heavily and leans against the wall. 'Not before. But they see me dance like I do.'

'Like you did just now?'

He nodded.

'Dressed like this.'

'No.' Masukio huffs, another very Aussie reaction. 'But had make-up on,' he added after a while. And then it's like gates that had been shut for a very long time are finally been released. 'And I not gay. I told them. I told them again and again. They don't trust. They don't believe. They think me sick, sick in head. Maybe they right, maybe I sick in head.'

'Mate, we're dancers, we all have to wear make-up and the weirdest thing when we dance. I had to be the Mouse King in first year. That mask was something weird alright!'

Masukio shakes his head and makes to stand up. I swallow with difficulty. And it only dawns on me that his attraction to make-up obviously extends to beyond the stage. I mean, I never wore my full costume unless I HAD to. He is wearing make-up at just before midnight for an out of boundaries solo rehearsal. This listening malarkey isn't coming to me easy, is it?

'They saw make-up and dancing and they got wrong. I like girls, I like girls a lot.'

I stand up with him. Even in the grey light and under the pale powder on his face I can guess the heat spreading in his cheeks, one that would make next to no difference on his skin or mine, even in full light, but I am no stranger to the sensation. 'My parents not listen. Not trust. That one reason why here.'

'What? They thoughts Australian ways might help straighten you out? When we're one of the most accepting culture I can think of?'

Masukio's eyes narrowed as if he didn't understand anything I said. I'm about to say it again but he shakes his head, so slowly, so sadly.

'Here away from eyes. Here no shame to family. Here still training. Here maybe change. If no I never return.'

I rack my brain. I search for what Tara would say to me when she is in her listening mode, when she makes me feel safe, when I can tell her mostly anything. But I fall short, so short and empty.

So instead I tap his shoulder and say what I feel. 'I'm sorry.'

He nods and grabs his bag.

'Thank you, Christian,' he says in his strong accented voice. 'Please tell no one.'

'I won't, of course I won't. But Masukio, I have to tell you, this is good, really good. I hope you'll show it to everyone one day.'

I see pride running through his eyes, and then worry, and fear, and then defeat pulls his shoulders back down.

'Maybe not now, but hopefully one day you will. Oh, and by the way, you really shouldn't be in the studio that late. If you do make sure I'm not around, or I'll be duty bound to do something about it, okay?'

Masukio smiles at me, a smile that thanks and mocks in equal measure. Fair enough. He might dance in women's shoes, but I'm not entirely comfortable in mine either.

 **Author's note: Nearly there, the 8 months lapse is nearly over!**


	51. Chapter 51 - Tango

Tango

I sit.

I stand up and pace just to sit again and repeat the pattern.

This is it. A proper date. We've been out, plenty of times. But we are going out for dinner. Not just a movie, not just a lunch meal, or a shopping trip. Not that Tara thinks of it as a date, of course. But she is dressing up, so maybe, just maybe.

I so happen to be standing when she finally makes it out of her room, and the sight of her freezes me. I force down a gulp and can half function again.

It's not as if she doesn't look like herself, just more like the her I used to know, the one who smiles, and does something else with her hair than just pull it into a ponytail or a gathered mess. Instead she's braided it, just the top part, from one side of her head to the other, like she did so often in first year, and she is smiling. Beaming even, all complete with the downcast ingénue eyes. The Tara of old.

'You look lovely.' I extend my arm to her and she links hers through mine. I don't quite know where to look when we are in the lift, so I settle on the tiny gap between the doors and follow the floors passing by.

Out the front door I turn to the right but Tara holds me back.

'Are we not taking your bike?'

I check the beautiful winter sky. 'I thought a walk would be nice, that's why we're leaving early.'

'Oh.'

I get my keys out. 'But if bike is what you want, bike it is.' I unlock the helmets. She's about to push hers down, but I reach over to tuck her hair carefully behind her ears. I love being so close and yet it's never quite enough. I force the wistfulness back down my throat and slam my visor down to hide my face.

Tara climbs carefully behind me, her chest flush against my back, her arms tights around my waist. I savour it for a few seconds before I start the engine and have concentrate on the road.

I stop in a side street along Hyde park. Tara pulls off her helmet, and of course her hair is a mess. She looks into the wing mirrors but I ruffle it even more. 'It's a very casual place, in a food hall, so don't worry.' I take her hand and she lets me hold it. 'Just be ready to be the palest person in the place, so crazy hair or not, you will stand out. Come on.'

Tara laughs. 'And you won't?'

'No, I'll look like a native. Watch.' I lead her down the escalator, and indeed there is only half a handful of white people within a small Asian crowd.

Tara stares at the bright menu on top of the counter and whispers in my ear. 'How am I supposed to know what to order?'

I give her my most winning smile, but it feels all fake. I'm trying too hard to tame the raging tide of love rushing in me from showing in my eyes, in my smile, in my tone. 'Maybe you could just trust me?'

'Yeah, great.' Tara leaves me to it and heads for a table, politely smiling at an old couple as she passes.

I turn away to order all my favourites, and a few more bits, just in case. I hope she's hungry.

It amazes me how easy it is to be with Tara when I'm not pretending to be someone else, not pretending not to care about her, just curbing it a little. I am being myself, and so is she, and it's so easy. So easy that we don't even once talk about the Memorial or her speech.

We pick at the last bits of food on our plates. With her last mouthful, Tara leans cautiously against the seat, still so wary of potential pain.

She rubs her tummy. 'Oh my goodness, that was delicious. My mouth is still on fire from that sauce, but my is it good fire.'

I just smile, I bask in the sunshine of her happiness.

But the ladies from Alice's restaurant are packing up, and we should leave. Even at seven thirty we step out in the dark of the night, the city awash with neon lights and a distant sound of Latin music. There must be a bar somewhere near.

I'm about to ask whether we should check it out but she speaks ahead of me. 'Shall we go to the park?'

I laugh. 'Now you want to walk?'

Tara nods. 'Mmhmm.'

The faint music becomes louder as we get closer to Elizabeth Street, only to find its source with its accompnaying bunch of people gathered at the foot of the obelisk.

Tara looks at me, I look at her. She shrugs and steps forward toward the throng. A few couples, some dressed up to the nines, some wearing normal clothes, are stomping about looking deadly angry. I'm about to snort in laughter when Tara pulls me through. Her eyes are so wide, they reflect all the light sources around us.

I'm not sure she realises but Tara's arms are making minute movements, echoing that of the woman in the red slashed dress, her neck elongating like hers. The woman in question spins and stops, striking a terrifying pose, staring straight at us. And then her spell is broken as a dark form comes our way. The man, in the tightest trousers I have ever seen that are not dance tights, bows to Tara, his arm reaching out to her.

'No, I can't.' Tara is so shocked she steps back onto my toes, her elbow jabbing my stomach. 'My back.'

'Injury?' he asks in a shockingly thick broad Aussie accent.

Tara nods, her face washed out pale under the street lights.

'I will look after your back then.' He takes her hand and leads her to the centre of the little circle, but I don't get a chance to look, the woman in red is taking my hand and pulling me forward too.

She starts dancing around me and I just stand there till she puts her face in front of mine and stamps her foot so hard that the vibrations run right through my shoes and up my calf.

'Dance!' she commands, her foreign pronunciation strong even in just that one word.

She places my hand on her back, the other in her hand, and she whispers directions to me. I oblige, but my heart is not in this. Ballroom dancing has never been my thing.

'You can do better than this.' She makes herself twirl and spin. Despite the fact that I am the one with my arms above her, she is the handler and I am the puppet.

I glance at Tara and she is beaming. The guy lets her take small steps, his arm carefully holding the middle part of her back, his legs directing hers, and she looks amazing. Not fierce like my partner seems to want to play her role, but soft, so tender that even that strapping dark bloke melts, tamed by her gentleness.

My partner twists my face back to her. 'Your girlfriend?' she asks, her chest pressed against mine.

'No.'

'Ah, not yet.'

'Erm-'

'Then show her.'

'Show her what?'

'Pasión!' She swerves her body all the way down and back up again. 'Dance, hombre, dance!'

She stomps away from me. I'm about to retreat into the audience but she's back. The track has changed to something so much slower, melancholic even. I glance at Tara and all I want is to hold her. But my partner has got me in her clutch. 'You want her,' she says to me, 'I want you. Which way is it going to go? Dance the story, dance it.'

Dance it, yeah right. The only time I did something remotely Latin was with Abigail at that cabaret. But images run through my head. I have danced pas-de-deux in every styles, modern, classic, contemporary. Ethan's choreography had been in that genre. I'd nailed Don Quixote. I've helped Abi through her solo. Surely I can at least attempt this.

I close my eyes for a second and let the images and the music take me on their journey. Yes, I want Tara, and this girl is in my way. Let's see what I can do with that indeed. 'What's your name?' I ask.

She smiles a taunting grin. 'Martina.'

'Well, Martina, I do not want you, I want her.'

'Less words, Don Juan, more dancing.'

I observe Tara's partner from the corner of my eye. I learn. I listen to the wordless way Martina's body communicates with mine, and I learn. I dance with her, but I step away. She holds me back, I indulge her, all the time reaching closer for Tara, who smiles, oblivious to the story we are playing, lost in the joy of her light dancing, but we are dark, we are fighting.

Martina takes me away, time and again. I get used to the way she moves, to her mood. I grab hold of her and tip her into a dramatic fish dive.

'That's more like it.' Martina grins from ear to ear, then her face goes back into acting mode, back into toying with me.

I pretend to move away, she stops me in my track. She is so slight and tight, I don't even hesitate. I push her into an angel lift, high above my head. The crowd cheer for us and Tara stops dancing to watch, but her partner reaches for her as the last notes unfold, carefully encasing her whole upper body with his arms, he leans her gently along his leg.

I've made my move too early. All the attention and applause now go to them. It's so romantic that nobody is looking at my theatrical move anymore, entranced by beauty and gentleness instead, and I hate him for it.

Tara smiles shyly as she crosses the makeshift dance floor towards me.

Her partner follows right behind. 'We have a studio right up the street,' he tells us, handing me a leaflet. 'Do come and join, both of you.' He wraps his arm around Martina and whisks her away for the next dance.

I expect Tara to want to stay and watch, but she is already turning away. I follow her quietly back to the bike. I keep my fingers near hers as much as possible. When I try to take her hand she lets me have it for a second but then quickly reclaims it to herself, leaving mine to brush limply against my thigh and my heart to sink.


	52. Chapter 52 - Heat

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: To distract Tara from her stress, Christian takes her out for a wonderful Malaysian meal, on the way back they happen onto some Tango dancers strutting their stuff, and both get to Dance, leaving Tara incredibly distant afterwards._

Heat

Tara opens the front door, but I hover in the corridor.

'Are you not coming in?' she asks, her eyebrows all up in surprise, and maybe even a bit of concern.

'Maybe I should go home tonight.'

'Oh,' she says, her face crestfallen. Then she winces, her hand flying to her back.

'Are you in pain?'

'A bit, I'm just aware it's there.'

I raise my eyebrows at her. 'Fancy a stretch?'

'Oh yes, please.'

I close the door and turn my back to her. Tara wraps her arms around my shoulders, and I lean. I love the humming sounds that comes from her lips, that release, that pleasure I'm giving her. Pride spreads in my chest as I round my back even more to support her. Gently, Tara rests her head alongside mine, her hair tickling my cheek.

'Lower?'

'Yes, please.'

'More?'

'Just a bit.'

And I stay like this till she asks me to put her feet on the ground. When she does I brace my arms backwards to hold her in place and slowly rise up again. That's when she normally twists her waist gently and goes about resuming life but right now she staying against my back.

I don't dare move.

Eventually, I can't take it anymore. I place my hand around her head to steady her as I turn.

Her eyes have that same Bamby quality they always have, but there is something else in there, something glowing.

Tara's hand reaches for my shoulder, her other one for my hand, replicating the tango hold. I rise and cross my arm over and around, turning Tara into the slowest of spins. Then I hold her tight to me, like I did with Martina, but so much softer. And we dance. There is no music to guide us, but somehow we don't need one.

As our moves become slower, smaller, closer, I secure my hold around her ribcage, my other hand holding her hips tightly in place. I sway her to the side and back, my foot sliding hers so that her legs rest against my extended one, my arms and chest replacing the brace she had to wear for so long as I tip her down. Tara's eyes are full of questions, but then she lets her chin rise up, her hair and braid cascading to the floor. Slowly, ever so gently, I bring her back up.

Whatever was glowing in her eyes, it's got promoted to full strength scorch.

Before I can make sense of it, she's pressing her chest even harder against mine. There is not a millimetre of space between my body and hers.

Before I can even attempt to make sense of what is happening she's rising on her toes, standing taller than me, her eyes so dark and smouldering as she stares at me from her accentuated height. Slowly, not taking her eyes off me, she lowers herself down till she finally closes her eyes with a sigh.

I don't know what to do with myself. Tara might not be clued in with a great many things, but even she cannot ignore what this is doing to my body. Her hips are right against mine. There is no way she has not felt what is happening there.

Then she does it all over again, her sigh even louder, her eyes completely shut off.

And it's not a bored sigh, not a disgruntled sigh.

Then her lips are on mine, hot and feverish.

Tara and I have kissed before, many times, but not like this. And I have no defences against it. I have no choice, my surrender is total.

Tara must have sensed that shift for she pushes against me even more. I have no idea where we're heading until my calves hit the sofa and I collapse into it, Tara straddling my lap.

The rubbing doesn't stop, it only gets stronger. Our breathing is all over the place. I can't make sense of anything at all but for Tara's body under my hands, for her hips grinding on me, for her lips and her tongue devouring mine.

I don't plan to, and I'm not even sure who initiated the move, but suddenly I'm the one on top as Tara lies under me.

'Ow.'

In a micro second I'm off her and up. 'Tara, did I hurt you? Are you alright?'

Tara squirms a little, as if to rearrange her spine. 'I'm okay, Christian, I just- Ugh, that's better.'

Then Tara does her swift sit-up-swivel thing and is upright again.

'Christian, I'm so sorry.' Tara's got both her hands on her face, hiding any features that would tell me about how she is truly feeling. It takes all my will power not to pry them open.

My heart, which has been beating like crazy, has suddenly stopped and crashed to the pit of my stomach, my whole body tensing up. _Not again, not again_ , I plead in a loop in my head.

'I don't know what took me. It's all this 'trust your body' business. Well, look what it's doing to me!' She giggles.

She is embarrassed, but I am not.

Here is the crossroad again. I have a choice, I can giggle with her and brush it all under the carpet. Or I can own up.

I sit beside her. At least she is not moving away. Maybe she can't, but I can't consider that right now.

'Tara, don't. I'm sorry if it was weird for you, but please don't apologise to me.'

Tara says nothing, and I am too cowardly to look at her.

'But you're right. If it's weird, then it's no good. There only so much you should trust your body with, your mind has to be into it too. And your- heart, for this.'

That's it. I'm laying my cards, all spread out for her to see. 'I just want you to know that it was okay for me on all bases.'

'Christian- '

I swivel and kneel in front of her and don't let Tara finish. I just can't face what she might have to say. I just can't. Not now, not after this. 'It might all a bit confusing right now. Just, take time to think about it, okay, see where your mind is, and your heart.' I place a soft kiss on her forehead. 'I'll come and get you for the rehearsal at one, as planned, okay?'

Tara nods, her cheeks flushed but her lips tight, her gaze fixed on her tightly crossed hands.

I rush down the stairs so that I have no options to stop and turn around.

I ride straight to the twenty four hour shop at the end of my street and buy two whole tubs of ice cream.

I rush up to our shared kitchen, bang them into the freezer, change into my joggers and head straight back out.

I don't just run. I sprint.

When I can't breathe anymore, I slow down, only to pick up the pace the minute my heart rate stops throbbing in my ears. People out and about stare at me, then at the street behind as if there is some kind of emergency, or imminent disaster. And they are right, the danger is imminent, but it will mean nothing to them. For me, it's all crash and burn.

I don't even shower when I come back. I grab the ice cream and a spoon, roll up in bed, and eat the whole lot. Between spoonfuls, I type on my phone.

DON'T LET IT BOTHER YOU. JUST SLEEP. EVERYTHING IS FINE.

And I will it to be.


	53. Chapter 53 - Aftermath

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: Things got very hot between Tara and Christian, but then it went all wrong, making Christian go back to his old habits of running away, well, not completely..._

Aftermath

I know I am dreaming. It's one of those weird one that makes no sense, especially not the ringing. And then I snap my eyes open and grab my phone. I am once again so glad that my roommate is both completely socially inept and such a heavy sleeper.

The relief snags and shrivels up at the caller ID. Why could Tara be calling me at two am?

In my panic, I fumble and only just press the green button on time. 'Tara, what's up?'

The only noise I can make out is snorting and puffing. 'Tara, did you hurt yourself?'

' N-no.' That is the least convincing no I have ever heard. 'No, I'm okay. I- I just can't sleep.'

In my own sleepy state I barely make sense of this. 'Do you want me to come?'

'Yes, please.'

'Okay, I'm coming right up, alright.' I get dressed in whatever clothes I can find in the dark as I talk to her. 'Everything will be fine, okay, I'm on my way. Why don't you listen to music, or watch a movie, or something, okay? Are you sure you're not hurt?'

There's more sniffling on the other end of the line as the crying subdues, and a ruffle. I take that as a nod.

'Okay, I'm on my way, Tara, I will be right there.'

I have never gone so fast down my stairs. I have had lots of dreams of flying when I was a kid, of just holding on to the handrail only to glide way above the steps. That's exactly how this feels. I'm normally cautious about starting the engine in the night, but right now I could not care less. I fire it up and speed away as fast as the wheels can turn.

At Tara's block, I do not wait for the lift, I just rush up the stairs, three steps at a time till I get to her door. In my stress and jittery nerves I can barely put the key in the lock. When it finally turns, I wrench the door open. 'Tara, I'm here.' I let it close behind me. 'Where are you?'

'My room.' Her voice still sounds so rough.

Lying in the dim light of her side lamp she looks ghostly, her eyes red and puffy, her nose all swollen up.

'Tara.'

But before I can say more, she has collapsed in my arms, her sobs shaking her chest like crazy. I hover in a half-sitting, half-crouching position. When it becomes clear she is not going to stop anytime soon, I wedge myself between her shoulder and the headboard till she slides against my chest. I try to turn her so that her back would be straighter, but she is having none of it, she stays on her side, her hand pulling and twisting the hem of my T-shirt.

So I just sit and caress her hair. 'I'm here. Tara, I'm here.'

And then the sobbing ebbs away. And softer breathing takes it place. Tara is falling asleep.

I wait in this weird position for so long that my ankle, stuck underneath me, throbs from lack of blood flow. I shift sideways, a centimetre at a time, holding her head in place as much as possible. I must have made one incremental move too many, for her eyes blink awake.

'Are you going?' she mumbles, an edge of panic tainting her sleepy voice.

'No, just getting you comfortable.'

She smiles with relief. 'Getting YOU comfortable.'

I laugh a little. 'That too.'

'Okay.' Then Tara scoots to clear half of her bed. 'That enough?'

'I- I can go on the sofa as usual, Tara, it's not a problem.'

Tara grabs my T-shirt again. 'No!' she almost shouts.

I wriggle down, leaving the healthiest distance between our bodies as the narrow bed allows.

'Christian?'

I take a deep breath, but it's so shaky. The last time she was asleep beside me like that, she had sleep-mumbled that she loved me. I had thrown it right back in her face the very next morning.

'Christian?' she asks again.

'Yes?'

'Kiss me.'

There is no wobble left in my breathing cause I'm no longer breathing at all.

I place a delicate, barely-there kiss on her forehead, taking a deep long breath to inhale every bit of her scent and store it up.

Tara opens her eyes, her lids still droopy, but a lot more awake that I had given her credit for.

'No,' she says. Then slowly, very slowly, giving me every opportunity to move away if I wanted to, she presses her lips on mine.

'Goodnight,' she says, stealing my line.

How am I supposed to sleep now, I have no idea.

And I didn't sleep much at all. Tara, however, seems to be catching up rather happily as the morning ticks away. I wait for ages, but there is a point by which I really have to go to the bathroom. As gently as I can, I detangle her fingers from my T-shirt and get up.

I check on Tara when I'm done. She is still fast asleep, no trace of last night's events marking the smoothness of her face. I go back to the bathroom and take a shower.

'Christian, Christian!' Tara shouts from her bedroom.

'In here,' I call back.

She swings the door open just as I finish getting dressed. 'Oh.' Then she retreats.

When I join her at the kitchen bar, she seems so unsure, bothering the tips of her fingers with her teeth.

The morning after.

'Good morning,' I say with as much casualness as I can. I don't succeed much.

'I'm sorry for calling you out in the middle of the night like that.'

'Tara, I'm glad you did.'

'Okay.' She takes a breath as if she's about to say something, but releases it empty of sound.

'Breakfast?' I suggests instead.

'Cereals for me.'

'Me too.'

And we eat as if we are complete strangers.

'I'd better go,' I say, matter of fact. 'Lots to do today.' I look for my rucksack only to realise that I haven't got it. So I just push my hands in my pockets.

'You're still picking me up at one, right?'

'Yes, of course.' I wait, but she does nothing, just finishes her bowl, painstakingly fishing out the remaining floating Cheerios.

'Okay then.' I head for the door. If I were going any slower, I would be going backwards, and yet she says nothing more.


	54. Chapter 54 - Official

_Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter:_

Official

I knock and come in, as usual.

'Don't look!' Tara shouts from her room. I have no idea why I shouldn't look, her door is closed. So I just stare at the floor till I'm sitting on the sofa, in front of her laptop. It's on, with many internet tabs open, all about-

Tara rushes across the room and slams it shut. 'I told you not to look!'

I can't help it, I blush. I'm not even sure it would show on my skin, but the heat is unbearable.

Tara is researching back-injury-friendly sex.

That she would turn to internet forums for such things is not in the least surprising, even a little funny. But I can't think about the funny side for more than a second. When Tara researches, Tara plans.

My brain goes into crash mode, from the heat of the night to the coldness of this morning. She might well be researching this, but clearly not for me.

And then all my internal organs speed up, revving up my breathing, my blood flow, disabling my capacity to think. My muscles tense up, readying for blows. But I can't take it, I can't take one more rejection, I just-

'Christian,' Tara's hand is on my arm. I cringe away from it. 'Christian, I'm sorry, I know it's silly, but after what happened last night, you know.'

I can't take it but I have to. I'm going to lay it all bare. I'm going to be true and honest, open and completely disarmed. Where I would normally play it cool, I am going to let my every emotion out. My hopes, my fears, they will all show on my face in their true identity. No more hiding.

'Tara, I am so confused. I don't know what I'm supposed to think.'

'Oh.'

What? O! Why ''oh''?

'You kissed me Tara. I wish I could pretend it didn't happen, but I can't, and I don't want to. I've been wanting to kiss you for so long.'

Her eyes are so wide, as if I am the one surprising her. Did I really play my 'friend' role so well that she truly doesn't know when it was so glaringly obvious to everyone else?

'Tara, this,' I point to her computer. 'Who- Who is it for?'

Tara's eyes roam all over my face, frowning at what they see.

Under their puzzled scrutiny I crumble. All the tension goes, leaving a empty hollow in its place. I'm washed out.

But then Tara gasps and lifts my chin with her hand, her eyes pleading for a forgiveness I won't be able to give.

'For us. I- I mean, one day, you know, maybe...'

My heart finds its place and use again, radiating in my chest with powerful beats.

Tara comes to sit beside me, her thigh against mine from hip to knee. 'Do you think we can do this? You and me? Do you think we can make it work this time?'

I listen to the strength of my beating heart echoing the pulse of her hand in mine. 'We've grown, Tara. We've changed. I've learnt to talk, you've become this amazing listener. We can do this, absolutely.'

With a shy smile and convincing nod Tara slides onto my lap and lets me embrace her.

We don't even kiss. We certainly do not repeat any of the shenanigans from last night. We just stay like this till a shrill ring brings us back to Earth with a bump.

'Oh, it's time to go,' she says, pulling me up to standing after her.

We hold hands as we go to my bike.

We hold hands as we walk the length of the pier.

But the moment we pass the doors of the Memorial, Tara gets into her party planner element, checking her list, tweaking things here and there. I let Zach welcome our guests in, a job I would be ridiculously bad at. Instead I wait at the back of the studio with the boys till everyone is placed and we fill the last seats in the audience, my hand and lips still tingling.

Zach walks up to the podium. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am honoured to welcome you to the official opening of The Samuel Lieberman Memorial Studio. I would like to introduce former student, and Sammy's close friend, Tara Webster to make the commencement speech.'

Tara glances at me, then at Kat as she walks to the platform. She pauses for a second, her back straightening as she takes a deep breath to get herself into her role.

'The irony is that Sammy is the person you would want to make this kind of speech, because he truly got the bigger picture, that dance shouldn't be about chasing accolades or- or even perfection. It's about bringing people together.'

My heart squeezes in pain at the mention of his name. I don't need to turn around to know that Abigail is probably crying. I don't need to lean to know that Ollie is biting is lip. Ben and I just nod, but inside, we hurt just as much.

'I've been thinking a lot about that since leaving the Academy. And I know, in third year, we missed his Sammy-esque wisdom every day. It was easy to lose perspective, because there was this one thought playing over and over: this is the rest of your life! We would trade both arms for that Company contract. And now we were so close, we were petrified it could slip right through our fingers.'

I glance at Ben, whose contract did just that, but look at where he is now, look at where I am.

'The Company was always watching, so every moment was a potential audition, a twelve months race to the finish line. And the people who knew us better than anyone else on the planet, our best friends, well, they were now meant to be the enemy.'

And how much have I been that? To Ollie who hated my guts for all the favours I got. To Ben who got caught up between Tara and me. And to Tara, most of all to Tara. I shouldn't have been worried about that tango yesterday. Looking at it through this perspective, I am a pro at that pulling and shoving away. But no more, no more.

'The most confronting things about third year is that it forced us to dig deeper, discover part of ourselves we didn't know existed, or didn't want to.'

Dark stuff, mean stuff I didn't think I was capable off, and all that time thinking it was for the best.

'But even when it got tough, I don't think we gave up hope.'

Of course Tara would never stop hoping. Although she has faced a fair share of challenges and dips these last few months, her hope is what kept her going, even when it got really tough. Maybe mine did too.

'Hope that we would somehow live up to our friend's memory.'

I gasp, a tear escaping and rolling down my cheek. I was his best mate, but in the end I had utterly failed him.

'Hope that we would conquer all the challenges we would have to face. And somehow make it to the finish line, together.'

I look at my friends, each in turn. It was a scattered arrival, but we are all here now.

'It's funny, I have no idea what happens next, but I am excited about finding my own way to make it count, the way Sammy did. He would have loved this space, where anyone can dream, and dance.' Tara pauses. I know just how much these words matter to her.

'I now declare it officially open.'

After Zach completes the talk with the plans for the future the guests get to mingle, and I contemplate, looking at Tara, so frail and yet so strong, so unsure and yet so driven, so unaware of her own feelings and yet able to verbalise the meaning of the deep stuff with such clarity.

Jayden comes over and tugs at my sleeve. I gather the troupe in the middle and raise my voice. 'Okay, Guys. This place is about dancing so, how about we do some?'

I leave the floor for the boys to show off, and I am so proud of them. It's still rough around the edges, but we are learning, we are getting there.

It's amazing how it all comes together though. The moment Ben and Ollie take the centre stage, the whole atmosphere revs up, and we build the momentum with each contribution: Abigail, then Grace and Kat. It's fluid, even if we haven't danced side by side, together like this, for months. We are all dancers, we know what to do, and we know each other.

I go to Tara's side. She is positively beaming.

'I can't believe it. How did you all organise this?'

'This is a thank you dance. Better late than never.' I smile at her to convey all that those words mean to me. 'Come on, this was your idea.'

Tara recoils. 'But I only took my first class, like, a month ago.'

I reach for her hand. 'We'll take it slow. We'll figure it out, together.' By the gentle blush on her cheeks she knows exactly what I mean. And we will take it slow, all of it.

As planned Kat comes over and takes her hand. Tara follows her lead to the middle of the floor, where I stand before her and hold her in place. 'Just trust in yourself, and in me.'

 _And I'm gonna ride this feeling as far as it goes..._


	55. Epilogue: a note from writer to reader

Note from the writer to the reader

Dangly ending can be so frustrating, but also so positively looking toward the future.

My story here ends with Chapter 54: Official, with the song, because it means so much to them, so much to me...

But there is more in the series... More than I covered... More that puzzles me...

When Tara is at the barre at the end of episode 13, she is wearing make-up and hair adornments. There is something in that make-up and hair styles that ages her, as if a few years have gone by since the Memorial opening. As she is also in dancing gear. I cannot help but think that these are clues... but clues to what?

Is she warming up before going on stage? Or is she warming down after a show? Surely she wouldn't be wearing full make up and jewellery if it were just normal practice. But then she has leg warmers, and her blue dance wear doesn't feel like traditional show costumes...

So could it be more than that?

Let me share a pondering thought with you:

If you were high on nerves, what would you do that would calm you most?

If you were Ben, you would swim in the cold sea.

If you were Abigail, you would punch that punch bag to smithereens

If you were Grace, you would plot and scheme.

If you were Kat, you would surround yourself with your friends.

If you were Christian, you would probably surf, or skate, or run, or ride, or spins some serious tricks.

But if you were Tara? What would you do?

If you were Tara, you would dance.

And what would be the one thing that would make her most nervous? I can't help but think this would have to be with what drives her even more than dance: relationships (even now I cannot help but hear this in Alicia Banit/ Kat's voice, with an elongated ''a''... relaaaaationship!)

Maybe it is just dancing. But the make up, the hair, the jewellery... I can't escape it, it reminds me of weddings... And what would make Tara need more escape into the routine and expression through dance than facing such serious commitment... Sure, this might be stretching things a lot... but hey, isn't that what dreaming is all about?

I will leave you with that thought, and with my many many thanks for reading my story. I do hope you enjoyed it! And keep riding _that_ feeling!

x

Tara Louise Reed


End file.
